


Those fears, we'll blow them all away.

by chevythunder



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1711085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chevythunder/pseuds/chevythunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’m Nick Grimshaw. Or Grimmy. Grim. Grimster. Grimbles.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Anything but Nicky, really.” He thrusts a hand forward, far enough to almost collide with Harry’s chest.</p><p>“’M Harry Styles.” Nick’s hand is warm and big enough to slightly swallow Harry’s. When they pull back, Harry’s cheeks are tinted pink and Nick is wearing a small smirk.</p><p>or The one where Gillian and Nick needs a third flatmate. Enter Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those fears, we'll blow them all away.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a tiny tag-fic, but that didn't last very long. A thousand thank you's to Mik, Melia and Caitlin.
> 
> Beta'ed by carswinky, brit-pick by fontwanttoblerone. Title from Ellie Goulding's I'll hold my breath.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing, this story and its characters are fictitious, and I do not wish to imply any of the events have actually occurred.

 

”Right, so through there is the kitchen, bathroom down the hall aaand that’s my bedroom.”

Harry jumps back slightly from the open door. “Sorry.”

The girl, Gillian, smiles at him. “It’s fine, you’re allowed to look. Just don’t steal my clothes.”

Harry laughs. “Does that happen often?”

Gillian gestures for him to follow her down the narrow corridor to yet another door. “Oh, yeah. I mean, Henry used them for inspiration or whatever. Grim just likes how fit his legs look in women’s jeans.”

She’s walking into a small room, empty except for a bare bed and a big window framed by pink curtains. At a closer examination, Harry sees that the pattern involves some form of flamingo-shaped clusters.

“He left those behind.”

Harry nods, tries to look politely interested. “Is that what he does then? Curtain… things?”

Gillian shakes her head, ponytail swaying. “He’s a clothes designer. Really good too, he’s been doing t-shirts for a while now. Everyone’s wearing them.” There’s a tone of pride in her voice, which makes Harry feel bad for not knowing who ‘everyone’ is. A week in London, sleeping in a mouldy hostel-room shared with eight people, hasn’t exactly gotten him access to the VIP rooms of the hipster elite.

That’s one of the first things of his to-do list, though. Get in and then stay there. _Kind of like a sneaky koala_ , Harry thinks. He’s still holding onto the curtain, thumb stroking the material. Gillian is talking but she’s interrupted by a louder voice coming from the doorway.

“Into birds, are we?” Harry looks up and is met with horn-rimmed glasses and a smile larger than the whole of Holmes Chapel. The guy, dressed in a band t-shirt and shabby-looking jeans, pulls Gillian’s hair a bit and then wraps her up in a hug.

Harry feels a bit awkward, clasps his hands behind his back and sways slightly on his heels. Suddenly, he remembers Gemma teasing him about how much he resembles a school boy when he does that, so he sticks his hands in his trouser pockets instead.

He’s sweating a little from dragging his suitcase across half of London (definitely not trusting his various hostel-pals to leave his stuff alone) and the three flights of stairs up to the flat. Here, with two people who seem to have wandered straight out of a photo shoot for Glastonbury’s best dressed, Harry feels supremely uncool.

“So, d’you like it?” It’s the guy again, fixing Harry with a surprisingly straightforward look. It catches him off guard, Harry’s always thought indie people were sort of like bats, avoiding any contact with humans and communicating through high-pitched sounds only. (Or maybe that’s Goths. Less Alexa Chung, more Noel Fielding.)

Harry realizes he still hasn’t answered. Both Gillian and Unnamed Hipster Bloke are looking at him slightly amused. Harry clears his throat. “It’s alright, yeah.”

Unnamed Hipster Bloke beams. “Great! Do you wanna move in now, right now, as in today? Live in the moment, capture the day, all that sort of stuff.” His eyebrows wriggle convincingly.

Gillian rolls her eyes. “If you want the room, we can set a date for you to move in. It’s no rush, really.”

“Weeell…”

“Shut up, Grim. We’ll manage.” She smiles encouragingly to Harry, who’s trying to crack the code to their banter. He has a feeling he’s going to need the key if they’ll be living together.

“Actually, I have… I mean, I brought the stuff with me? My stuff. Like, in the bag?”

Gillian looks a bit surprised. “The suitcase?” Harry nods. “Oh. Okay, I thought that was just… But alright then, you’re done! I’ll go get the contract.” She walks out of the room and Harry is alone with the Bloke Nicknamed Grim.

“It’s not really a contract, it’s just her proving that she has a job fancy enough to let everyone print stuff for free. Always coming home with papers and stuff, Gillian is.” The guy plops down on the bed. Harry’s brought two sets of sheets but he’s probably going to need more. The mattress the blo- _Grim_ – is currently resting on seems nice enough, but if there’s one thing Harry’s mum has taught him, it’s to always have a mattress personally picked out.

“Oh. Where does she work?”

“The Independent. She’s one of them culture writers. Can you believe that?”

“Uhm, no? I mean, yes?” Harry realizes his hands have retreated to the small of his back once more. He leaves them there this time.

Grim hums. He then jumps off the bed and bundles over to Harry, who’s still standing by the window.

“I’m so sorry, haven’t said hello properly. I’m Nick Grimshaw. Or Grimmy. Grim. Grimster. Grimbles.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Anything but Nicky, really.” He thrusts a hand forward far enough to almost collide with Harry’s chest.

“’M Harry Styles.” Nick’s hand is warm and big enough to slightly swallow Harry’s. When their hands pull back, Harry’s cheeks are tinted pink and Nick is wearing a small smirk.

Footsteps from the corridor interrupt their moment. Harry takes a step back, stumbling on absolutely nothing. Nick reaches out to steady him before he crashes through the window, or something equally stupid.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles.

“No problem.”

“Alright, here’s your copy,” says Gillian, handing over an official looking document to Harry. He nods his thanks, looks around the room for a pen.

“Here you go.” As if by magic, a blue fountain pen appears in Harry’s hand. He’s only known her for about ten minutes, but Gillian has already proven herself to be frighteningly efficient.

He skims the page quickly before signing the dotted line. Gillian hands over another copy and he signs that one too.

“Done and done,” Nick grins. “Welcome to casa de glamour. The house of fine hairdo’s, the castle of good clothing. Palace of take-outs.”

Gillian claps a hand over Nick’s mouth. “Rule number one is to always ignore anything Grimmy says. Rule number two is-“

“Don’t steal your clothes?”

She smiles. “Exactly.”

 

*** 

 

The settling in goes rather smoothly.

Harry spends a lot of his time wandering the streets of London, looking for someone, anyone, who would be willing to hire him. He learns that Nick is actually a radio DJ on Radio 1 (holy shit) and that he’s got the ten til midnight slot. Whenever she’s home, Gillian always makes sure to listen to the show ‘ _otherwise Grim will be moaning that I never support him_ ’. Harry has vague recollections of listening to Nick before, but not enough that he could immediately recognise his voice. Most of the gigs and pub nights start around ten, so it’s not so weird that he hasn’t been an avid listener before.

He does like Radio 1 though, the BBC is the holy grail of broadcasting and Harry wants in. If he could get away with it without endless mocking from his sister, he’d probably had put up a poster of Zane Lowe in his old bedroom. Annie Mac is brilliant and Scott Mills makes Harry think of coming home from school and having a cuppa in the kitchen with his mum, the radio on low volume, perched on the window sill.

He and Gemma tried playing Innuendo Bingo once, but after Gemma’s carpet got completely soaked, their mum banned them from ever playing again. Apparently, that carpet never really recovered.

 

Gillian is brilliant, sharp witted and funny. She once spent an hour trying to throw grapes into Nick’s mouth in front of _Who Wants To Be a Millionaire_ , only to sit down and write a scathing article criticising the government’s recent budget cuts for the arts. Harry would probably be intimidated by her if he met her in a professional setting. As it turns out, seeing someone go to the shops with a pizza crust-necklace on a dare kind of makes them less scary.

Nick is… easy. Easy to talk to, easy to have morning dance parties with, easy to look at, easy to be attracted to, easy to stare at for far too long. There’s something there, along the lines of their friendship, but Harry doesn’t know what it is yet. Growing up, he didn’t really have that many options snog-wise, so obviously he’s going to get a little flustered if someone really fit walked around in the flat with only a flimsy t-shirt and boxers on for a full weekend.

It’s not like anything’s going to happen, anyway.

 

 ***

 

“I’m growing a beard.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am.” Nick throws his arms out. “CAMDEN, I WILL SOON HAVE A FACE FULL OF HAIR!”

Gillian sighs and catches Nick in a headlock.  He squawks but makes no move to try and get away.

“Come on Harold, off we go,” Gillian says whilst towing Nick with her down the street. Harry grins and half-jogs to catch up.

It’s the second time he’s been out with them and already, he feels like he belongs. It feels like years since he was last in Camden, alone and desperately searching for a group of friends to cling onto. Growing up in a small town and obsessively watching _Friends_ will give you unrealistic expectations about life in the big city, as Harry learned. When he first unloaded his bag in the cheapest London hostel he could find and didn’t immediately meet a quirky group of charming people with superb wit, his soul did slightly weep.

Now, though. Now he’s walking down a random London street with two people who are not only smart and lovely, but also seem to like him in return. To prove it, Nick rips away from Gellz' grip and throws an arm around Harry’s shoulder instead.

“Any place you want to go?” Nick asks, his eyes bright.

Harry shakes his head slowly. “Nope,” he grins, “I trust you to lead me right.”

“Good luck,” Gillian coughs.

“Heeey! I can to show a lad a great time.” Nick says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Harry lets out a loud cackle and immediately throws his hands up to his mouth. He always hated his laugh. Nick doesn’t seem to notice though, simply bumps their hips together and continue walking.

“We share a wall, Nicholas. I am aware of what you do to your boy-toys,” Gillian says dryly.

Harry frowns. “Boy-toys?”

Nick nods and bends down to whisper in Harry’s ear. “They’re very bendy.”

Harry can feel his cheeks go red and he tries desperately to stop the images from flowing into his mind. Nick cackles and takes a step away from Harry, lets his arm slip off from Harry’s shoulder.

“Let’s go, bet there are lots of men with hair on their faces in here.” Nick disappears through a door into what appears to be a combination of a pancake house and a dance club.

Gillian grips Harry’s elbow, drags him after her.

 

There are fifteen green bottles in front of Harry on the table. He can’t remember how many of them he drank himself but, according to the ongoing buzz in his head, it must have been a fair few. As the night goes on, more and more people had joined their booth, shouting hello’s and exchanging enthusiastic hugs.

Two of them are ones Harry’s met before, American Aimee with the explosive hair and David with the nice eyes and stark shirts. (Harry’s a little ashamed to admit that he warmed up to David considerably faster once he learned that not only is he a childhood friend of David Beckham’s, but he’s also straight. Him and Nick had had an intense hugging thing going on the first time he came to have dinner at the flat, and Harry’s not about to voluntarily cavort with the enemy. Not that David and Nick would be a problem for Harry in any way. Shut up, drunk brain.)

The rest of the gang are new faces, at least in real life. Harry had been busy buying the next round when he comes back to the table only to find Pixie Geldof and Alexa Chung downing vodka-shots with Aimee. Nick laughs at his expression and throws an arm around Harry’s shoulders.

“Harold, this is Pix, and that’s Alexa.”

“Hi,” Harry squeakes. “Nice to meet you.”

“So you’re the new Henry!” Pixie says, leaning over to give him a one armed hug and a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Very happy to meet you.”

“I really like your dad,” Harry blurts out, before freezing and blushing all over. “I mean, I like you too. I think. But that thing he did with the concert and all that. It was nice.”

“Ooh, I’m Pixie Geldof, my dad’s been knighted, all the boys love me. Don’t go on about it,” Nick grins. “It’s okay, Harold. We’ve all been there.”

“Ugh, shut up Grim,” Pixie groans, throwing a straw at him.

“What? Sir Bob’s looking hot at the moment.”

“Hi, hello, don’t mind them. I’m Alexa, I used to work with Grimmy,” Alexa says and holds out a hand for Harry to shake. He manages to nod and smile without embarrassing himself. A small feat, by the look of how he’s been doing so far.

“My telly wife, Alexa is,” Nick chimes in. “Now she’s moving to America and abandoning us all.”

“Nothing wrong with the States,” Aimee drawls. “I’m rather fond of it.”

“Is that why you moved to England, then?” David asks.

“Well, I couldn’t let you idiots live here all by yourselves any longer, could I? Someone’s gotta keep Grim in line.”

“Hear, hear,” Alexa shouts, raising her glass.

“Don’t listen to a word they say,” Nick whispers, but he still toasts with the others.

 

 

A couple of hours later, Harry is close to drifting of. Nick is sitting next to him, telling an elaborate story involving some kind of fish. Harry tips his head back to the backrest of the booth and tries to pay attention.

“And then… they ate it!”

The rest of the table groans, so Harry groans a bit too, unwilling to be left out. Nick continues on with the story and Harry notices that he talks a lot with his hands. They’re very nice hands, big with long fingers and neatly trimmed nails.

Those fingers would probably feel good, Harry thinks before shaking himself out of it. They live together; it’s not a good idea. And besides, if Nick is used to pulling bendy young men, Harry would be a big disappointment. He’s alright at yoga but his coordination is still shit.

He can’t stop himself from casually keeping his eyes trained on Nick’s fingers though. Purely out of curiosity, of course, peaking over when they’re gripping the neck of a beer bottle, lighting a fag and – when the clock nears five am – digging out a wallet from ridiculously tight jeans to pay for five cheeseburgers.

It’s _not_ going to be a big deal, Harry reminds himself.

 

***

 

Nick wakes up feeling like utter trash. He spends ten minutes forcing his eyes open and immediately closes them again. He’s forgotten to draw the blinds and the one day London decides to be sunny is of course the day Nick’s got the hangover from hell.

Brilliant.

He rolls over and is slightly surprised to not bump into someone. Since moving to London, waking up alone after a night out is a rare thing but right now, he’s thankful for it. He knows that some of his friends judge him after seeing the seemingly endless parade of partners, most of them not lasting long enough for breakfast, but if there’s something Nick couldn’t care less about, that’s probably it. Growing up in Oldham, where the only other gay people were either thirty plus or women, Nick makes no excuses for exploring the scene.

There’s a timid knock on the door. “Uhm. Nick? Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Nick croaks, quickly drawing the sheet tighter around his body. Gillian’s been subjected to enough nudity from him to be forever immune, but Harry’s still new and unspoiled. The door opens and something rattles.

“Shit.”

Something rattles a bit more.

Harry comes into view, carrying a tray of what looks and smells like tea. His tongue is peaking out and he looks deeply concentrated. Even though Nick’s head is currently doing its best to make him wish he’d never been born, he can’t help but smile.

“Y’alright?”

Harry nods, but doesn’t take his eyes of the tray. Very carefully, he places it on the foot of the bed.

“Tadaa!” Harry exclaims, looking tired but still beaming. He climbs onto the bed and hands Nick one of the cups. “Made it myself.”

“Oh, then no thanks,” Nick mutters and makes a move to put the cup back.

“Heeey.”

Nick grins and takes a sip. “’S good.”

Harry smiles and settles in against the headboard, his own cup clutched carefully in two hands so as not to spill.

They sit in silence, Nick trying to get his brain to work properly while drinking the tea before it grows too cold. The only way he can drink tea is scalding hot and without milk, and Harry’s gotten it just right. He looks over at Harry, legs stretched out on the bed and hair falling into his face. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but already Harry is neatly fitting into Nick’s life.

Nick reaches over and nudges Harry’s leg with his own. “Hey. Didn’t you want to get into radio?”

Harry nods. “Mhm. Sent out applications ages ago, and then I moved to London but, like, there was no jobs around and my only experience is from the bakery back home, so it’s hard to get anywhere with it and then I didn’t have a good place to stay but I heard about Gillian through a mate. Met him at the pub, he’s really nice actually, you’d like him, or maybe you know him already? His name’s Zayn, he’s got this exhibition going on right now and I think Gellz wrote about it. So, anyway, I came here and it’s really nice, though I’m thinking about changing my curtains cause grey makes me feel a little sad, so maybe I’ll get blue ones instead and-” He interrupts himself, looks over at Nick. “Wait, what was the question?”

Nick bursts out laughing, shaking with it but still managing to put down the teacup on the floor without spilling too much. The second after he does, a body pounces on his. He tries to defend himself, but Harry’s relentless, tickling Nick’s sides and wiggling his way so that his body completely covers Nick’s, making it impossible to escape.  

“Get off me!”

“Never,” Harry giggles in his ear. “This is what you get for laughing at me.”

Nick reaches round to pinch Harry in the side, making him screech. Harry grabs his wrist and holds it down against the mattress, collapsing on top of Nick. Despite the heavy weight of teenager on his back, Nick feels more relaxed than in a long time.

“Niiiiick,” Harry whines.

“Yes?”

“What did you ask before?”

Nick squirms enough to land himself on his back, peering down at Harry who’s now lying half across Nick's chest.

“I just remembered you saying summat about wanting to go into radio.”

Harry nods.

“Do you want to come in with me? See how them faders work?”

Harry lights up. “YES!” He sneaks his arms around Nick’s back, hugging tightly. “I’d love to.” The words are muffled against Nick’s shirt.

“Alright then,” Nick says, hugging back.  

 

***

 

Matt Fincham looks like he’s about to have an aneurism. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be a laugh.” Nick tries his best smile, the one where he shows all his teeth at once. Finchy looks slightly disturbed, but Nick has learned that that’s usually a good sign.

“I don’t have to do it,” Harry says, looking down on the mixer console in front of him. He leans a little against the table and Nick suddenly knows exactly what he’s trying to do. He smirks. Matt won’t know what hit him.

“Just thought it would be fun,” Harry continues, “but I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Matt huffs. “It’s not that.“

“No, I get it,“ Harry says, a small smile on his lips. It’s just enough to bring out the dimple. “You don’t want some stupid kid playing around with the mics and stuff.”

Matt looks between Harry and Nick, Nick simply taking a sip from his Diet Coke and fiddles a little with the buttons. Harry does the swishy-thing with his hair and Matt is done for.

Two minutes later, Harry is talking to the nation, impersonating Nick to introduce the show.

 

***

 

“You can’t shag him.”

Nick looks up from where he’s been ogling Harry through the window. He’s wearing some kind of poncho today, matched with Chelsea boots and the ever-present skinny jean. Just as he’s about to disappear from sight, Harry turns around and waves cheerily up at Nick.

Nick refuses to acknowledge the blush creeping up on his neck. It’s not like he’s been busted staring at Harry’s arse of something. The bloody poncho is covering it anyway. (It does make his shoulders all broad and manly, though. Nick does like a pair of good shoulders.) He waves back at Harry and ducks out of view.

Gellz is still stood next to him, now with her arms crossed and eyebrows raised in a judging manner. Nick smiles broadly and hopes she’ll not notice the colour of his cheeks post Harold-watching.

“You’re all red.”

Alright, so that failed. “You are looking amazing today, love. Is that a new sweater?”

“No.” The eyebrows are now pointing down, indicating that she’s getting ready for a fight. Nick hates fights. “You cannot shag him.”

“I know,” he’s trying for nonchalant but it ends up somewhere between squeaky and whiny.

“I like him and if you sex him up and then-“

“Sex him up?” Nick sniggers. Gillian shoots him a death-glare.

“You know what I mean. It’s only a crush, Grim. If you sleep with him you’ll get bored and it’ll be awkward. Go out and find yourself a model.”

“I don’t want to.” Okay, definitely whining now.

Gillian sighs, places both her hands on his shoulders.

“You get along well, right?”

Nick nods.

“You want to keep him on as a flat-mate?”

Another nod.

“You want to keep being his friend?”

He feels like one of them Chinese cat things now, stuck in an endless nod of the head until the end of time.

“Can you promise you won’t get all weird if you sleep with him?”

Nick’s monotone cat-movements screech to a halt. He meets Gillian’s eyes and pouts a little, shakes his head slowly.

Gillian nods. “You’ll leave it alone?”

“Yes,” he says, trying to convince both of them. “I’ll leave it alone.”

 

They’re curled up on the sofa watching telly a couple of hours later, Harry still not back from whatever errand demanded his time. Nick is nursing his second glass of wine.

“He’s so pretty, though.”

Gillian crawls over to rest her head on his shoulder. “I know.”

Nick swirls his wine around and tries to focus on Nigella.

“Prettiest boy in all the land.”

Gillian shushes him. Nick rests his head on the backrest and closes his eyes. It’ll be fine.

 

***

 

It becomes a regular thing, Harry coming into work with Nick. The team warms to him quickly; even Matt seems to welcome Harry’s presence despite that meaning a semi-distracted show from Nick. Harry’s eager to learn and spends most of the time asking questions and pointing at random buttons for explanations whenever there’s music on. Nick doesn’t mind, he was pretty much the same when he started out, Megan had to teach him basically everything from the ground up.

Sometimes Harry takes his cell phone and disappears out of the studio only to call in for a feature. He tries to be sneaky about it, but accents aren’t really his strong suit, so it’s pretty easy to determine if Robert from Hull or Celia from Birmingham is in fact sitting in the live lounge. Nick never calls him on it, though, treats it the same way as he did his dad the last few years the Grimshaw household still had a Santa Claus dropping off gifts.

Harry always looks so proud of himself every time he thinks he’s managed to pull it off that Nick throws some extra glares at Finchy whenever he rolls his eyes a little too obviously.

 

***

 

Harry slams the glass down on the table. “And it’s like, we’re just so connected, you know? Like right… right here,” he says, clumsily pointing at his temple.

Niall claps him on the back. “Alright, mate. Your minds are one.”

Harry grabs Niall’s arm. “YES! One mind.” He nods solemnly. “One love.”

Niall cracks up and Harry laughs along with him even though he can’t find anything funny in the way he feels about Nick. They’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks but Harry already counts him as one of his closest friends. It should be scary, but it’s really not.

It doesn’t hurt that they have a mutual interest in radio, Nick more than willing to help Harry out with any work related things. Nick likes to claim that he’s awful, ' _I just press play and play a little with the faders Harold, it’s not like I’m a proper DJ'_  but Harry has watched him closely when he’s tagged along to one of Nick’s gigs and he knows it’s not true. Nick may not know all the fancy things Pete Tong does, but he knows about people and that’s really all he needs.

There was one time, in Brighton, where a nasty fight had broken out half an hour before Nick was supposed to go on. Harry had been by the bar when the brawl had started and had had to duck out and run over to the other side of the room to not get knocked out by a flying bottle. Truth be told, it would probably be more likely that he’d tripped on his own feet and brained himself against the bar, but it had still felt a little frightening. Nick had waved him over and Harry had weaved his way through the crowd until he had finally arrived under Nick’s arm.

He’d thought Nick would wait to go on until the place had calmed down a bit, but he had just laughed at Harry and trotted up to the booth with his laptop tucked under his arm.

It only took ten minutes of Beyoncé seamed into Daft Punk to get everyone back on the dance floor. Harry had stayed by the side of the dance floor and looked at Nick, who had danced around like a madman in his booth, drinking beer and lipsyncing to the lyrics. Harry had looked around at the crowd and seen quite a few girls (and guys) trying to catch Nick’s attention, but he was too deep into the music to pay them any mind.

(If Harry had then sneaked up on Nick and grasped him around the waist from behind, just to glare over his shoulder at those who thought they had a chance then, well, he was just looking out for a friend. None of them looked good enough for Nick, not a single one of the gorgeous people in the crowd would do.)

(And if Nick had done nothing but throw a grin over his shoulder and grind back into Harry’s body, well, it was probably the beer. Or not.)

“Mate!” Niall is waving a hand in front of his eyes, and by the smirk on his face, he has done so for quite a while. “You in there?”

“Mhm,” Harry licks his lips, takes another swig of the beer, “Right here, Nialler. Niallanator. Niallinacrocodile. Nialloth-“

“Okay, I think it’s time we go home,” Niall says, throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulder.

“Nick’s not at home,” Harry says, but lets himself be steered towards the exit. “Byyye!” He waves to the general public in the pub. No one waves back and Harry pouts a little. The least they could do was wave back, they have all shared this space of drinking and feeling buzzy inside. He tells Niall as much when they get out into the streets. Niall mostly nods along. Harry likes Niall quite a lot, and he's not afraid of telling him that.

“You are a stand-up guy, Niall. Real good friend. Very happy we met at that thing when you were playing the song with the…“ He fumbles for the lyrics, “Girl, when you do that- no, hang on, when you say that you will say pie-“

“Be mine,” Niall cuts in.

“Be miiiine, go out a store-“

“Through that door,” Niall says, “Watch your step here, there you go. Fresh air doing summat for your head?”

Harry beams, nods at him. “Thank you, thank you. Such a good mate, you are. Always looking out for me.” He places a sloppy kiss on Niall’s head. “You know who’s also a real good friend, a very nice pal?”

“I can guess.”

“Nick!” Harry shouts enthusiastically into the night. “He’s very nice. But he’s not at home.”

“Alright, well, we can go home and wait for him then.” Considering that they’ve had the same amount of beer to drink, Harry really thinks that Niall should be more out of it. Maybe it’s the Irish-ness. All people from Ireland are excellent at drinking without getting drunk. Or maybe that’s not true, he best ask.

“Is that a stereotype?” He asks Niall. “I don’t like stereotypes.”

Niall furrows his brow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“That’s okay. I’ll ask Nick.” Harry fumbles with his coat, tries to get at his jeans. “Hey, have you seen my phone?”

“Oh, no.” Niall grabs Harry’s hand before it can reach into the pocket. “No texting now, mate. You don’t want to wake up to that.”

Harry pouts. “I wanna go home.”

 

***

 

Home is empty when he gets there, the kitchen clock informing him that it’s just gone midnight. Harry can’t really remember the last time he’d gotten so drunk so fast.

“Irish-ness,” he says to the dark living room and proceeds to collapse on the sofa.

He managed to persuade Niall that he was fine getting up the stairs on his own. Even through his hazy mind, he knew that the last bus that goes directly between Harry’s flat and Niall’s was only minutes away.

He considers giving himself a clap on the back for being a good friend, but he can’t seem to move his arm. It may be because he’s lying on it.

Harry is contemplating how to turn the telly on without having to use his hands when the front door opens.

“Hello?” Nick’s voice sounds strangely timid.

“Hiiii,” Harry answers.

The light in the hall comes on. Harry can hear Nick toeing off his shoes and throwing his coat over a hook. It will probably fall down during the night and Harry will pick it up before going to work. It’s a nice thing to do, and he would like to think it makes Nick a little happy too, knowing someone cares about his outerwear and where it’s being stored.

“Thought it was a bloody burglar in here.” Nick’s voice keeps getting closer which Harry very much approves of. “Why didn’t you close the door?”

“Mm, forgot.” Harry cuddles deeper into the couch, rubs his cheek against the soft material.

“Forgot? How can you just- oh.” Nick has stopped just inside the living room, looking at Harry with a raised eyebrow.

Since he’s still refusing to move enough so that he can use his arms, Harry wiggles around a bit instead of waving. “Hellooo!”

Nick’s lips reluctantly quirks up. “Hiya. Have you been drinking?”

“Lil bit.”

“Ah. You do know that it’s Thursday and you probably have things to do tomorrow?” Nick says while making his way over to the couch. He drops down next to Harry’s head.

“I’m free tomorrow. Got a whooole day of nothing.” Harry twists around so his face ends up in a very close proximity to Nick’s crotch, his hands grabbing Nick’s thighs for balance.

There’s a brief flash of something on Nick’s face – simple want maybe, or something more – before he hoists Harry up to a sitting position. Harry can’t seem to control his body, so he just lets it flop down next to Nick, head resting on his shoulder.

“Good for you, young Harold. Did you plan on doing anything else than being horribly hungover?”

“Nope,” Harry says, smacking his lips. His mouth is very dry. “My mouth is very dry.”

Nick huffs out a laugh and disappears into the kitchen. Harry tilts his head and squints. If he holds his head steady, he can almost make out the silhouettes of all the Simpson characters on the blank TV-screen.

“Niiiick. We’ve been watching the Simpson’s too much. They’re stuck in the telly.” Harry contemplates getting up and pulling Marge (she’s his favourite, very good hair) out of the horrible prison that stands in their living room but thinks better of it. She wouldn’t be happy without Homer anyway.

“What are you talking about?” Nick asks as he sits down beside Harry and hands him a glass of water.

Harry gulps it down. “She’d be lonely out here with the non-yellow people and no husband.” He drains the glass and lets his head fall down to rest on Nick’s shoulder. “That’s the thing about people in love, y’know. Always wants to be around each other.”

Nick hums and takes the empty glass from Harry, places it on the table. “Suppose so.”

“D’ya ever feel that way ‘bout someone?” Harry’s eyes are closing on their own accord, but he forces them open. Even through his hazy mind, he knows Nick’s answer is important enough to be awake for.

“Yeah,” Nick says softly.

Harry snuggles deeper into Nick’s side. He yawns broadly and is only dimly aware that Nick is turning on the telly. He falls asleep to David Attenborough’s calm voice and the pretty sounds of birds in flight.  

 

Nick snores. That’s the first thought in Harry’s mind when he wakes up. The second is that he would like to throw up.

He jostles Nick when he gets up to run to the bathroom and when he’s done heaving, (the first of many times that day, Harry’s sure) Nick is there with a wet towel and a toothbrush. He presses the towel against Harry’s neck and the toothbrush into his hand.

“I don’t remember drinking that much.”

Nick snorts. “You woke up in the middle of the night and started singing ‘Crazy In Love’ into my ear, love. I think you were pretty off it.”

The harsh light of the bathroom does nothing to hide Harry’s blush. “Sorry,” he mumbles through the mountain of toothpaste in his mouth.

“S’alright. Do you need help getting up?”

Harry nods and clings onto Nick’s shoulders like a baby monkey. Nick guides him up and over to the sink. He looks unfairly good, hair mussed and still dressed in last night’s t-shirt. Harry glares at him a little, but Nick just raises one eyebrow. 

“Where are your glasses?”

Nick shrugs. “Slept with my contacts in.”

“Griim. You shouldn’t do that, remember? My mate has a mum who’s sisters daughter is an eye-doctor and she said that it’s not good for you.”

Nick looks blankly at him. “What?”

“Oh. Maybe I didn’t tell you, but she said that you shouldn’t do that. Sleep with your contacts in.” Harry tries to look serious, which is not that easy when you feel like your stomach is filled with tiny moths that’ve made it their life-mission to re-decorate your insides.

“How does she know I sleep with ‘em?” Nick says.

“I told her.”

Nick’s face is doing a cross between a smile and a frown. _A smown_ , Harry thinks, _or a frile_. He should write that down.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says, something besides moths in his stomach now, “seemed important.”

“Okay, well say thanks for the advice to your friends mums sisters daughter.”

When he looks up, Nick is smiling and Harry is quick to bend over the sink and rinse his mouth. He’s pretty sure little baby angels carrying hearts had replaced the pupils in his eyes and he’s not sure Nick is ready for that level of love yet. He’s somewhat of a spooked animal when it comes to feelings, so if Harry wants to proceed with his excellent seduction plan, he has to take it slow.

 

***

 

Harry ends up tagging along to the studio with Nick. He sits in the corner of the studio and throws paper balls at Nick’s face. During the last link, Harry stands up and crowds Nick from behind. He gets a cautionary look from Producer Finchy, but he dodges it as he leans over Nick’s chair to hug his shoulders. Nick’s speech doesn’t falter, but the tip of his ears turn pink. 

They don’t go out after the show since Harry doesn’t feel like doing yet another all-nighter before the weekend. There’s a gig in Shoreditch he really wants to get to, and it won’t happen if he’s hung-over. Gellz is on a work conference thing, and neither of them feel like cooking, so they eat greasy pizza on the floor in front of the telly.

The band he wants to go see had let themselves be talked into giving him a demo for free the last time they ran into each other, so he plays it for Nick to gain his reaction. Nick likes to boast about his broadcasting skills and how important he is to the music world, but when he’s asked for his honest opinion by someone who trusts him, he’s surprisingly attentive.

They listen through the tracks twice and then compile a review on a left-over napkin. They work well together, and Harry feels that little tug in his belly which seems to appear whenever Nick and he are being particularly close. Harry sprawls out on the floor, using the not-so-cramped space as his excuse to throw his legs across Nick’s lap. Nick is busy drawing stick-figures on the napkin and only grunts a little when an ankle hits him in the chin.

Harry watches him silently, follows the curve of his eyelashes and the bend of his spine visible through his thin-worn shirt. Nick’s voice is one of Harry’s favourite things about him, but he’s very beautiful in the soft light coming from the window, the only sound being that of the pen against the paper.

Harry shifts and sits up, replacing his legs with himself in Nick’s lap. Nick doesn’t even react at first, just hums and puts the cap back on the pen. Harry shuffles a little until he can count all the freckles on Nick’s nose.

“Hi.”

Nick looks up at him, eyes widening a little at their sudden proximity. “Uhm. Hello.”

Harry takes a deep breath and slowly runs a hand up Nick’s back, careful not to make any sudden movements. When his hand reaches Nick’s neck, he grasps it lightly.

“What… what’s up?” Nick’s voice is steady but his eyes are not, flicking over Harry’s face restlessly.

Harry shrugs a little. “Just wanted to sit here.”

“On top of me?”

“Mhm.”

Harry plays a little with the soft hair at the nape of Nick’s neck. He shifts so that he’s even closer to Nick, chests pressed against each other.

Nick clears his throat. “Well, I think I have some work to do so-“

A quick tug of Nick’s hair shuts him up. Harry files that information away for later and focuses on getting his arm around Nick’s back, trapping him underneath him.

Harry likes to think he’s brave and maybe he is, but he doesn’t dare look Nick in the eye before pushing their lips together. He keeps a steady pressure, strokes a hand down to Nick’s hip and back up to his shoulder, waits for Nick to catch up.

He doesn’t.

There’s fear crawling up Harry’s chest now, but he pushes it back, desperate not to be wrong. He changes the angle, covers Nick’s lips in soft, quick kisses to coax a response from him. Harry lets out a frustrated noise, but regrets it immediately when the sound seems to stir Nick from his shock and a hand comes up to push Harry away.

The music from before is long gone, sweet words about desire no longer trickling in from the record player. Nick’s hand trembles a little where it rests on Harry’s chest, his breaths a little too loud. Harry has his head bowed, one hand hanging loosely down his side and the other resting on Nick’s shoulder. His breaths are calm, collected and very quiet, he’s used to hiding how he feels. He’s done this before. Growing up in a town where no one looked twice if your hand was under a girl’s skirt but where fists would find their way to your stomach and face if you rested your eyes a beat too long on a boy’s back, a minute of lips tracing a cut jaw, a tentative hand touching the spot between a shoulder and a neck, Harry has learned how to make himself invisible. It doesn’t make the fights and kicks hurt less, but it makes people forget more easily.

“I’m sorry.”

Nick breathes out carefully. “It’s okay.”

Harry nods, once. He collects himself, pulls himself up to a standing position. With quiet steps he makes his way back to his bedroom. He’d better try and get some sleep.

It’s fine.

It’s all fine.

 

***

 

“Are you sure he’s into blokes?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Harry snaps. He’s had a bad morning, embarrassment making him even more clumsy than usual as he tried to go through his day while not looking at anything or anyone. He realises now that he’s chosen a really bad place to live, Nick is everywhere, all the streets and the people remind Harry of late nights and big hands, tall hair, long legs. He can’t escape him anywhere and the worst part is, Harry doesn’t want to.

“Maybe he’s just really camp. You know, stereotypes and shit.” Niall is looking sympathetic but it doesn’t make Harry feel better. In fact, this whole thing is Niall’s fault.

“This whole thing is your fault,” Harry mutters.

Niall doesn’t answer, but he does pull Harry into a tight hug which is better than an apology. Harry hooks his chin over Niall’s shoulder and sighs.

“I really like him.”

Niall snuggles into Harry’s neck. “I know.”

 

It’s on the bus home Harry starts to really think about it. He’s never seen Nick make out with someone who was not female, but then again, he’s never seen him make out with anyone who isn’t a close friend. Maybe that’s Nick’s thing. Maybe he sleeps with all his girlfriends to avoid having to go through the hassle of having a _girlfriend_.

London is grey, the people huddled under umbrellas or sending murderous looks to those who are. It’s four in the afternoon and Harry can’t think of somewhere to go that’s not the flat. He’s in a state of being permanently half-broke and can’t afford to eat out, not even to avoid the inevitable awkwardness of facing Nick over a bowl of pasta.

He has to get over it sometime. Not get over Nick, that’ll take a while and even longer if they’ll continue to hang out, but get over the voice inside his head telling him to run away from London and everything the city holds.

After giving himself a stern talking to during the rest of the bus ride and on the short walk back to the flat, Harry feels ready to face Nick. He’s almost looking forward to it, hoping he can find a way to laugh last night off and go back to being non-kissing friends.

Nick is not there when he gets home and all the upbeat words Harry’s been chanting in his head disappear as soon as he closes the bedroom door behind him.

 

***

 

The club is filled up with people, most of them under twenty, most of them on the dance floor. Nick is sitting in a booth, his friends scattered through the club. He considers taking off, but knows that the flat only holds shittier vodka and no deafening music. He’d like to install a club-like sound system around the living room if it could help avoid a conversation with Harry.

It’s been three days and they’ve been carefully reconstructing their schedules to no longer coincide. Nick has started sleeping in, no longer awake in time for home cooked breakfast and too hot tea.

(He doesn’t even like tea, it reminds him of teacher's breath, but the first morning after Harry had come with them out, he made Nick tea and gave it to him in bed. After that, he couldn’t really talk his way out of getting tea for brekkie every morning, cause he had praised it so much the first time round that Harry was bound to bring out the sad crease in his forehead and there was a lot of things Nick would do for coffee, but cause that face was not one of them. If it’s done right, he even likes a cuppa in the morning now. Madness.)

Harry has gone off to do whatever it is he does for longer than usual, out of the flat when Nick wakes up and still gone when he’s off to work. He’s not eating with Nick, not pitching in with opinions about the sample records Nick plays in the afternoons and he’s definitely not joining Nick in the studio anymore. Matt has been asking after him, but Nick has brushed it off every time. _‘He felt a bit sick’, ‘had a thing with a friend’, ‘just busy, I guess’_ , empty excuses when what he really wants to say is _‘I fucked up’, ‘I fucked up’, ‘ **I fucked up’**_.

And the worst part is that he _wants_ to talk to Harry, he wants to make it right but there is no way he can. Gillian has been right all along, Nick can’t be trusted around Harry and his lips and his smell and the colour of his eyes. He can’t ruin it. He can’t ruin him. Nick fucks up everything remotely beautiful he can get his hands on and that’s why he has to protect Harry, make sure he stays far enough not to be dragged down.

He doesn’t want another number in his phone connected to nothing but an answering machine. He doesn’t need yet another failed relationship, an ache in his chest that only grows stronger every time their name is mentioned, every time he asks about someone in a faux casual manner and gets an equally casual ‘ _oh, they’re with someone else_ ’. Tim got married, Jonny moved back to America and Marco patted him on the cheek and said _‘let’s just be friends’_.

So instead of trying to patch things up with Harry, who was well on the way of becoming one of Nick’s best friends, he’s in an up-and-coming club in Soho, watching pretty people dance in blinding lights. He catches the eye of a blonde guy in skin-tight jeans on the dance floor and drains his drink.

He’s going to feel guilty for going out without Harry anyway, might as well get an orgasm out of it.

 

He wakes up sore and disoriented, having to blink for a few seconds before his dresser comes into view. So he’s in his room then, good. There’s someone moving beside him, but Nick slips out of bed and into the bathroom before whoever’s been sleeping next to him gets a chance to wake up properly.

He washes his face and turns his back on the mirror. He knows his eyes are a little red after the vodka, his throat feels scratchy and his hair is doing that swoopy thing it always does after he’s gotten proper twatted on a night out.

He feels like shit.

Nick has gone through his fair share of one night stands, so he’s developed a formula to get them to leave as soon as possible (usually, it would be him staying over, but he must have been too pissed to think of that last night) and while there’s a few things that may work, the fool proof thing to do is to avoid. Avoid seeing the person wake up, avoid seeing the person leave. That way, he doesn’t have to stand the awkward dance around who can be more aloof the morning after, he can just wait the guy out and then go back to bed.

He hears his bedroom door open and soft footsteps pass the bathroom. He gives himself a mental pat on the back for choosing someone who knows the rules. He hates being the guy who has to explain that the sex was just sex, there’s the door, thanks ever so much and see you later.

One of Nick’s worst mornings of all time was when a bloke refused to leave. He sat naked on Nick’s bed for two hours, demanding to know how it could be that they had been so intimate the night before but was to go their separate ways come morning. (He’s never been able to handle emotions, so obviously Nick made a joke about ‘come morning’ and got himself slapped. Whenever Gellz gets a little too tipsy on red wine, it’s the only story she wants to tell.)

The front door opens and shuts. Nick drags himself back to bed and congratulates himself on a job well done.

 

***

 

He goes out the next night again and drags home a pretty boy with blue eyes and cropped hair. He’s not as drunk as the night before and he can’t make his brain stop making the comparisons. Hair not as soft, legs not as long, laugh not as bright. He can’t stop seeing the lack of Harry in this nameless but gorgeous stranger, and he has to close his eyes and imagine a different body underneath his before he can come.  

Afterwards, he lets the guy share his toothbrush and they sleep side by side. He runs into Harry on the way back from the bathroom in the early morning hours, Nick in nothing but boxers and Harry in his old, worn pyjama pants. Nick bites his lip and averts his eyes, making sure not to touch when he slips by Harry back to the bedroom.

When he lies back down, he watches the light play on the boy in his bed and wonders how if he’s actually managed to wreck this too.

 

***

 

It’s been ten days and seven guys. Harry’s over it. He was over it the first time he came home and heard two distinctly male voices while walking past Nick’s room, definitely over it by the time they bumped into each other late at night and Nick was wearing nothing but boxers and a row of fingerprints down his sides.

Harry had stood frozen in the bathroom doorway for a long time, thinking about how the fingers that had marked Nick were so much smaller than his own and if that was why Nick preferred them. He’d seen the guy leave the next morning, noticed his careful smile and quiet voice and wondered if the problem was that Harry was too loud, his grin too wide.

He gets it, is the thing. Nick _does_ like guys, a whole bunch of them apparently, but Harry is not one of them. That’s fine.  He’s not incapable of taking a hint and it’s not the first time he’s been rejected. He doesn’t even care anymore except for how he absolutely, _desperately_ does.

If he stabs his fruit salad a little too viciously with his fork, no one needs to know. If he starts making just enough water for his and Gillian’s tea in the morning, instead of putting on a little extra so that Nick can get a cup of instant coffee (he doesn’t like tea first thing in the morning, even though he pretends he does, and they don’t have a coffeemaker. _‘Bloody stupid to have another monster just for bean-y water’_ were Nick’s exact words when Harry asked), then that’s simply because Nick’s been sleeping in lately and is hardly ever up before Harry leaves. If Harry was a petty person, he might make some snide remark about what’s been keeping him up, but he doesn’t. He keeps his head down and avoids meeting Nick’s eyes.

(He glares at the guys when they’re walking out in the morning, looking sleepy and sated. He hates them. Hates them because he failed and they are the living testaments to how badly he fucked up, how wrongly he read Nick. Every lanky man with love-bites down his neck is a sign of defeat, and Harry’s always been a sore loser.)

“Fucking idiot,” he mutters down into his tea when Nick’s latest conquest traipses around in the hallway for a good five minutes looking for his sunglasses, before realising they’re in his coat pocket.

Gillian snorts but waves jovially at the guy and waits until the door closes behind him to respond. “He’s allowed to be a bit dim, he’s a model.”

Harry head whips up. “He’s a _model_?”

“Mhm.” Gellz is reading the morning paper and has just reached the art-section, which means Harry has about ten seconds to catch her attention, otherwise she’ll be unreachable until every word has been absorbed.

He makes it easy for himself and puts a hand on top of the article she’s trying to read. “Why is he a model?”

Gillian blinks at him. “Um. He got a contract for being pretty, and now he’s walking down catwalks all over the place?”

“No, I mean... why is a model sleeping with Nick?” Harry means no disrespect to Nick’s face, it’s one of his favourite faces of all time, but while Nick is hot in a quirky, charming sort of way, he’s not someone Harry would picture getting it on with boys from the Hollister catalogue.

“Ah, well.” She takes a sip of her tea. “He’s bloody catnip to them, isn’t he?” She wriggles her eyebrows. “You should have seen him when he first came to London, was like a bomb had gone off at fashion week. I swear, every single guy with a 28 inch waist wanted in his pants.”

There’s a voice in Harry’s head that spends an awful lot of time pointing out his weaknesses and mocking his dreams. Usually, he’s pretty good at keeping it quiet, but whenever something particularly bad happens, it pops back up.

Harry can only imagine the party that voice is throwing right now. There are probably celebratory hats and candy canes because _Nick dates models_. People who are employed because of their beauty fall at his feet, he’s probably front row at London fashion week and is suddenly so utterly, utterly out of reach. He suddenly remembers Gillian’s quip about boy-toys that she made ages ago and how Nick had smirked along. No wonder he rejected Harry, the teenage loser with no job who tried to seduce Nick in their living room to the sound of a demo from a rather rubbish indie band from Shropshire.

He feels like he’s about to be sick.

Gillian is fully immersed in the words on the page, just nods absentmindedly when Harry gets up and mumbles a rushed excuse before fleeing back to his room.  

He sinks down on the floor with his back to the wall. This is it. He can never have Nick, _will_ never have him, no matter how much he wants to. The people who do end up Nick’s bed don’t stay for longer than a night and apparently, they all wear clothes for a living. Or don’t wear clothes for a living. He really can’t compete with people who are paid to get undressed.

Harry peaks down his shirt to get a glimpse of a pale chest, inspects his knobbly knees. He stands up and straightens his shoulders, imagines a catwalk stretching out in front of him and starts walking. He manages about five steps before tripping over his own feet. Somehow, he’s lucky enough to crash-land on the bed and decides to stay there, head buried in the pillow. When he’s figured out a way to feel better, he’ll get up.

 

An hour later, he does. Feelings or no feelings, Harry was decidedly happier when he was hanging out with Nick, pathetically pining his heart out, than he’s been not hanging out with Nick while pining – if possible – even more.

Friends it is. Now all he has to do is convince Nick that this is a great idea without actually saying the words.

 

***

 

Nick doesn’t know what changed, but Harry is suddenly out of the funk he’s been in since the almost kiss that should never be mentioned. Every time Harry stands a bit too close, Nick’s heart decides to imitate a rabbit staring down the barrel of a gun and he finds it hard to breathe. Best not to think about it, push it away, bury himself (quite literally) in other people who always smell lovely, but never right.

“Could the two of you stop acting like school children, please,” Finchy sighs, tugging the microphone string away from Harry’s hands. “And I want my computer back.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nick says.

“No idea,” Harry fills in.

“It’s like you think it’s our fault you can’t stay organised. Very unprofessional,” Nick grins.

“I’d like to talk to your supervisor,” Harry drawls, reaching out to tug Matt down on the couch beside him. “Are you having a hard time? Do you want to talk about it?” Harry leans closer, inspects Finchy through big doe eyes. “Did James Bond die?”

“What? No, of course not. Bond never dies, that is the point. If you’re not going to watch them seriously, then I won’t lend you anymore DVD’s,” Matt says, trying to sound stern.

Harry gasps and clutches his chest. “How can you say that?” He pulls Matt into an awkward hug. “James Bond is my _life_.”

“Alright, Harry. Let go, that’s a good lad,” Finchy grumbles, breaking free.

Nick throws a pen at them. “Are you two done?”

Harry nods and grabs the microphone cord to pull it down just in time for Nick’s next link.

“Menace,” Nick mouths before launching into the Monday quiz.

 

***

 

Harry doesn’t really know how it happened, but somehow he’s managed to build up a nice group of people who can get him into shows and – apparently – talk about him to Important People. There’s a job opening at one of the morning shows on Radio 1, according to Dan the indie drummer whose brother works for Scott Mills, and Harry applies for the position. He doesn’t expect anything to come from it, even Nick got rejected the first time he tried for a job there. It came up once when they were chatting to Matt, how Nick had applied for an internship but been turned down. Harry had cuddled in extra close, because no matter how jovial he was when he told the story, it was pretty clear that the memory still stung a little.

He quite misses being able to snuggle up to Nick so freely. They’ve been hanging out a little, but it’s still tentative and a bit awkward.

Two days later, and Harry’s called up for an interview. It’s a team assistant they’re looking for, and if he gets a chance to work at Radio 1, Harry will be the best assistant to ever assist in the history of assisting.  He just needs to ace the interview first.

 

***

 

The building looks more intimidating in daylight than when Harry’s come in with Nick at night. It’s a whole lot of glass and official logos, a sort of pride hanging in the air. This is the BBC headquarters and he’s just a teenager with nothing but some experience in uni radio on his CV. That and recommendations from Barbara at the bakery, but Harry doesn’t think that will get him very far here.

Walking in through the door, two security guys latch on to him immediately. They’re friendly and in no way threatening, but it’s understood that if he doesn’t have an appointment, he’s out of here. Luckily, he has.

“Harry Styles, I’m here for an interview.”

The taller man ( _Billy_ , his nametag informs) gives a curt nod and checks his computer for confirmation.

“Can I see your ID, please?”

Harry hands over his driver’s license with a bright smile. Billy’s lips quirk a little, in the kind of smile you would give an over-enthusiastic child. Harry doesn’t mind, he knows he’s a bit keen but he’s got an interview at the BB-freaking-C and that’s worth all the dimple action he can muster.

“Okay, Mr Styles, you can go in. Hannah over in reception will show you were to go.”

“Thanks Billy!” The salute was probably unnecessary but Harry felt like the situation demanded it.

 

Hannah is sitting behind a large oak-desk. She’s got a headset on and a polite smile that never seems to falter as she connects calls and jots down notes. Harry stands in front of the desk, trying to tame his face into something mildly professional.

Every other time he’s been in the building, it’s been under Nick’s protection. Nick likes to pretend he’s one of the lowlifes, at the bottom of the food-chain, _‘no one respects me Harold, can’t even get a decent coffee around here if I don’t make it myself’_ , which of course is rubbish. He’s one of the most important people around, hosting a show during the crucial hours were it’s important to connect with the young minds of Britain, the ones who are constantly online and updated with everything. It’s Nick’s job to keep them interested in the BBC, a task that many would find impossible.

Harry thinks Nick is brilliant at it, mostly because he’s so warm and friendly to everyone and – no matter what he claims – Nick is very well liked among his colleagues. So, whenever Harry’s come in to hang around the studio, there’s never been any fuss with security. Nick’s the gatekeeper and so it’s not until now when he’s not around that Harry realizes what a big deal it is to come into BBC headquarters. It’s always been a joke before, a silly thing to do before nights out. Not so funny when you’re preparing to fight for landing a job of your own.

Hannah the receptionist looks up and although she gives him a welcoming look, there’s no recognition in her eyes. It’s not that surprising; the desk has almost always been abandoned when he’s visited before, the need for someone in reception dwindling down as the afternoon turns into night. Usually it’s one of the security guys who steps in and show eventual guests to the right floor.

“Good morning. How may I help you?”

“I have a meeting with Dev? Or, not with Dev but with someone working for him.” Harry forces his mouth to shut and takes a deep breath. “I’m Harry and I have an interview.”

“Oh, right.”

“For Dev’s show,” he adds quickly. Harry is a common name after all, he doesn’t want to get stuck in an interview for a job at the Birmingham branch. He’d probably be too polite to say no and then what would he do? He doesn’t know anyone in Birmingham.

Hannah nods while turning to a stack of files. “And your last name is?”

“Styles.”

Hannah hums affirmatively, flicks through the documents. A thousand thoughts have time to fly through Harry’s mind while she’s looking.

_It’s all a misunderstanding._

_It’s a prank._

_Somewhere there’s a camera filming everything, and they’re going to show it on punk’d and Ashton Kutcher will laugh at me and Nick won’t want to be friends with me anymore and I’ll have to move out because Gillian will ultimately side with Nick and I’m going to be back in that bloody hostel again and oh god, oh god, oh god._

“Here we go,” Hannah says and Harry’s brain screeches to a halt. He looks up at her, zeroes in on the file she’s holding. It’s got his name on.

“There is some information in here we would like you to look over before the interview, mostly about the organization and our code of practice. There’s also a more detailed description of the job than what was in the ad you first applied to.”

Harry nods, reaches out to grab the file. If his hand is trembling slightly, they’re both doing an excellent job of ignoring it.

“Take the elevator up to the eighth floor and I’ll call up for someone to meet you.”

Harry doesn’t realize he’s been continuously nodding the whole time until about ten seconds after Hannah’s finished her sentence. She’s wearing an encouraging smile now, gesturing towards the elevators.

Harry gives her a small nod and sets off. Joining a serious looking man in a serious looking suit in front of the lift, Harry fumbles the file open. He reads all the way up to the eighth floor, looking up when the doors open and reveals the busy office.

A guy with an actual clipboard is standing in front of the elevator, casual stance and polite smile firmly in place. He spots Harry and straightens up.

“Harry Styles?”

Harry walks out and shakes the offered hand. “Hi.”

“I’m Adam, one of the assistant producers on Dev’s show.”

They start moving down the office, the corridors familiar to Harry but not the people. He’s used to the lights being dimmed and the desks cleared out for the day. There’s a different feeling now, a buzzing thrumming in the air.

“Here we are,” Adam says, holding up the door to a small meeting room.

“Usually, you would be talking with someone from human resources, but there are a couple of people on holiday and with this job opening up so suddenly…” Adam shrugs. “I hope it’s okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. As long as you’re employed by the BBC, which you are, obviously, then it’s okay I suppose. I mean, I don’t mind.” He really needs to get his blabbering under control; it’s not exactly making him out as a cutting edge ambassador for youth culture.

Adam doesn’t seem too concerned about it, his mouth still smiling, his eyes still kind.

Harry straightens up a bit, tries to calm himself down. He’s got this, he’s been to yoga. Deep breaths and centre yourself.

Right.

 

***

 

“Nick!” Harry starts shouting as soon as he’s got the key in the door. “Nick! _Niiiiiiiiiiiick!_ ”

He kicks the door closed and rushes into the living room. The telly is on but the room is empty. Harry is slightly panting after running up the stairs and he has to rest his hands on his knees to try and catch his breath.

There’s hushed voices coming from Nick’s bedroom and Harry can feel something acid in the back of his throat that has nothing to do with his subpar running stamina. Nick comes out, his hair a mess and shirt half undone. He looks like he’s building up to a proper panic-attack and he’s moving faster than Harry’s ever seen him do before. It only takes four long steps for him to reach Harry, hurriedly running his hands over Harry’s back and arms.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do we have to go to the hospital, I’ll drive, come on, let’s go. Can you walk or do you want me to carry you? Harry? Haz?”

Harry’s a little ashamed to admit that for a moment, the thought of keeping it up does enter his mind. Nick’s hands are warm and comforting and Harry quite likes the thought of being taken care of.

Nevertheless, his actual news is amazing and maybe they’re enough for a celebratory hug. Or snog. The couch is just a few feet away, so if they were to tumble down on it and land tangled together, it wouldn’t be a hardship. Nick could be on top of him maybe, slotting between Harry’s legs _just so_ , and Harry would grab hold of his hair and kiss him ‘til all those other people would be nothing more than a foggy memory. Then he could lock his legs behind Nick’s back so that they’re bodies would be even closer together and-

And Nick’s mouth is moving. Harry shakes himself out of it and comes back to reality. A reality where Nick is actually cradling Harry’s head in his hands, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.

“Harry? Hazza. Haz. _Harry!_ ” He sounds actually scared now and it brings Harry’s ability of speech back.

“Yes. I’m here.”

Nick huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, darling, I can see that. Why were you screaming like a lunatic?”

Darling. Darling. _Darling_. It’s not the first time, but Harry’s emotions are already running high and so he really can’t be blamed for smiling so big that his cheeks feel like they’re about to burst.

“I got a job. On the radio.”

Nick looks slightly gobsmacked. “What?”

Harry nods. “With Dev.”

Nick breaks up in a smile, his hands tightening for a moment before dropping down to Harry’s shoulders. He shakes him lightly. “Really? Why didn’t you tell me you had an interview, you idiot?”

Harry shrugs, “You would have shown up and embarrassed me.”

“I would never. How very dare you, Harold?”

“Shut up.” Harry means to just swat at Nick’s chest, really he does, but he can’t help it if his hand decides to stay there. Nick does have a very warm chest and Harry’s fingers are a little cold from the walk back to the house. There’s only so much he can repress when it comes to fancying Nick, and right now he just can’t be bothered. He’s too happy to be careful.

In any case, Nick doesn’t seem to mind. He grabs hold of Harry’s wrist and squeezes it. There’s a very real possibility of Harry fainting within the next minute or so.

“What’s the job then? Head whipping boy? You’d be good at that.”

Harry desperately quells any and all of the images flooding through his mind. “I’m going to make coffees and stuff. Answer the phones and like, be an assistant to everyone.”

Nick is wriggling his eyebrows. “That is what us professionals call a whipping boy.”

Harry pushes weakly at him. Nick opens his mouth but before he can say anything, the moment is interrupted by Nick's bedroom door opening behind them.

The guy is tall and thin, hair blonde and jaw razor-sharp. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that fits him like a second skin, matching the sweatpants that Harry recognizes as Nick’s. The acid is back in his throat and he turns back round only to witness Nick’s smirk as he releases Harry’s wrist.

“Still here, are you?”

The guy – yet another model from the way he’s walking across the room, Harry thinks – raises an eyebrow. “Should I have jumped out the window? We’re not exactly on the first floor, babe.”

American. Blonde. Tall. Confident. _‘Babe’_.

Harry’s suddenly desperate to get out of the flat.

“Is Gellz at work?”

Nick nods. Harry grabs his keys from where he dropped them earlier in the commotion of Nick placing his face close to Harry’s. He really needs to get a grip.

“Good, so. Ehm. I’ll just run over and tell her.” He stumbles over the carpet on his rush to the door, but he manages to right himself before crashing into a table or head-butting the doorway.

The last thing he sees before closing the door behind him is the guy pulling Nick in for a kiss. He slams it shut a little harder than necessary, and can’t find it in him to care.

 

***

 

The fact that Gillian works at an actual newspaper, and one of the grown-up ones at that, makes her way more mature than any of his other friends. He’s been to her job once before, tagging along with Nick before going shopping. He remembers where the building is and gets there without trouble but… he can’t seem to recall which floor she’s on. He walks up to the receptionist and tries to look like someone adult enough to know someone working in the building, and not like a kid trying to sneak in to use the toilet.

“Hello. I’m Harry Styles and I’m looking for my friend Gillian?”

The receptionist is wearing the same polite smile as Hannah did, but Harry thinks he caught him looking Harry up and down as soon as he walked in, so maybe there’s something else underneath it.

The receptionist doesn’t have a nametag, but he does have a quiff high enough to even rival Nick’s. His hair is slightly darker than Grimmy’s and his blue eyes lack the constant kindness Nick's have. He is very attractive though.

“Okay. Are you supposed to meet up here, or…”

“Oh. No, ehm, she works here? At The Independent.” Receptionist-guy raises his eyebrows a little, so Harry tacks on “Orr is her last name, Gillian Orr. I’ve forgotten which floor she’s at.”

“Well, The Independent has their offices at the third floor, but I’m going to have to check and see if she can clear you to go up.”

Harry nods and shoves his hands down his trouser-pockets while he watches the receptionist pick up the phone.

“Hi, it’s Dave.”

Dave. Dave is a good name, Harry thinks. David. It’s nowhere near as nice as Nicholas, but it’s alright. Besides, _Nicholas_ is well busy with Tall American Model. He has no right coming into Harry’s head and demanding affection.

Dave smiles at him whilst nodding into the receiver. “Of course, yes. I’ll send him right up.”

He hangs up. “You didn’t tell me you were the new roommate.”

“Oh, well,” Harry shrugs.

“When you get to third, just turn left. She’s in the office third from the right.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, trying to sound like he’s grateful for Dave’s help but also his face. Dave seems to pick up on it cause when he says “You’re welcome”, his voice is less formal and his smile a little broader.

Harry walks to the elevators with a little more swing in the hips than he normally has. He is a firm believer in that there is no such thing as overkill.

 

Gillian’s office is nice, pictures tucked up all over the wall above her desk, abstract painting on the others. There’s stuff everywhere, magazines and day-old papers, cut-out articles and what appears to be a million different notebooks. The woman herself is sitting on the floor, laptop balanced on her knees. A pair of giant headphones hang around her neck and her fingers are flying over the keys.

Maybe being an adult isn’t quite what Harry has imagined it to be.

He leans against the doorway and knocks on it lightly. She looks up and shoots him a stressed smile.

“Hiya.”

“I like your office.”

She snorts. “Thanks. What’s up?”

Harry wanders in, takes a seat next to her on the floor. There’s a dead plant shoved in under the window sill. “I’ve got some news. Good news and I wanted to tell you. Like, in person, so I came here.”

Gillian nods, makes a couple of keystrokes before closing her laptop. “Shoot.”

“I got a job.” Despite the emotional turmoil caused by blonde Americans, the words still makes him smile. The blonde Brit next to him does the same.

“Really? That’s amazing, Haz!”

They manage to hug without crashing the computer to the floor. Harry makes a mental note of victory at that.

“Yeah, I’m going to be the assistant on Dev’s show.”

“Oh god, are you going to gang up on me now that you have the same employer? Is there going to be heckling cause I don’t work for the beeb?”

“Nah. We heckle you enough. And I think Nick is too busy to have time for that.” He goes for nonchalant but something must have slipped through, cause Gillian’s mouth turns a little downwards. “It’s fine,” he assures her, “it’s just that we don’t hang out as much, cause. You know. Models and stuff.”

She looks at him with something akin to guilt in her eyes. Harry isn’t sure, so he just ignores it for now. Maybe she’s known about the guy for a while and didn’t tell him. Doesn’t matter.

“Are you hungry?”

“I am, yeah. I have to finish this piece, but we can get lunch after?” She smiles at him. “I usually just order food and force Dave to bring it up, but we can go out if you want.”

“No!” That might have come out just a tad too loud. He clears his throat. “We can do the other thing, with the ordering and, um, Dave bringing it here.”

Her smile turns wicked. “Someone got a little crush on the receptionist there, have you?”

“His face was nice.” Gillian elbows him in the side and returns to her laptop. Harry lies back on the floor and tries to count her keystrokes in his head.

 

***

 

They have a nice lunch with chips and greasy chicken staining their fingers. Harry gets a good look of Dave when he bends down to leave the containers on the floor, and he congratulates himself on being able to recognize a fit body from only seeing shoulders and neck.

He also notices that that’s about as far as his attraction goes. Dave is someone with lovely eyes and a good body and Harry’s feelings toward both of those things are appreciative, but in the way you would admire a beautiful painting or statue, not in the way you’d like someone on a sweaty dance floor. He still smiles big enough for his dimples to pop out and makes a show out of gushing out his thanks to Dave for bringing them their _‘lovely, lovely meal. Really, it’s like we’re Oliver Twist and you’re the nice man who keeps giving us more.’_ (Okay, so maybe Harry hasn’t read that particular one out of the long list of Dickens’ works, but he doesn’t think that gives Gellz the right to laugh so hard that she knocks one of the drinks over and causes the whole room to smell like Pepsi.) Dave doesn’t laugh at least, just smiles a very pretty smile and excuses himself. If he swings his hips, Harry doesn’t know because he doesn’t think to look.

After they’ve eaten, he says goodbye to Gillian after making her promise not to stay too late in the office, and heads out. He wanders aimlessly for a while before going to Waitrose. He wants to cook, and as a newly appointed BBC-employee he figures he’s allowed to pay a couple more quid on the good pasta. They also have better chocolates, the kind with truffle in that Gillian likes. He buys Nick some salt and vinegar crisps because those are his favourites and it doesn’t matter how many people Nick snogs in front of him, they are still friends and getting crisps for each other is just what good friends do.

Nick is out when Harry gets home, and it may be bad of him, but Harry can’t help but peek into Nick’s room to look for any clues on whether or not American Model Guy was still around. The only clothes strewn over chairs and all over the floor are belonging to Nick though, and there’s no foreign bag or suitcase anywhere.

Maybe it was just a fluke, the guy staying overtime. Maybe he wasn’t really anything special at all. Harry feels a little guilty when a warm feeling spreads in his chest at the thought, but it passes soon enough. At least the guy got to touch Nick before he got shunned; he should have nothing to complain about.

Harry spends the night alone in front of the telly, eating the crisps he bought for Nick.

 

***

 

Two weeks later and Harry is settling in nicely to the early mornings. A steady pay check doesn’t hurt either, the phone call home to tell his parents that any help with rent money wouldn’t be needed anymore is on his top five calls ever. The other four includes Gemma being accepted to her dream uni, Nick calling him live on radio to complain about a pair of missing socks, Nick calling him at three am because he was lonely in the living room and Harry calling Nick after losing each other somewhere during a night out to meet up at a dingy little coffee shop in Camden. They’d stayed there for hours, inhaling a ton of scrambled eggs and cheap chocolate bought in the Tesco across the street.

“Are you okay?” Niall asks, “Do you want to come out with me and Bressie?”

Harry sighs and is about to say no when Niall speaks again. “Saw Gillian yesterday. She’s well fit.”

“Shut uuup,” Harry groans. “You’re not allowed to fancy her. She’s off limits. Think of her as a mum or a sister or summat.”

Niall grins at him, “You want me to think of her as your mum?” he wiggles his eyebrows. “Cause I have no problem thinking about your mum.”

Harry thumps him over the back of the head. The job is great, but he’s missed Niall and he’s missed Nick. Since Nick is constantly occupied with parties and dinners Harry can’t join in on because he needs to be up at two in the morning for work, they’ve drifted a bit. It hasn’t exactly helped that Harry can’t get the Other Boys out of his head, the pretty ones, the sleep-mussed ones. In all fairness, it’s been a while since anyone’s been at the flat, but every time he catches a glimpse of Nick’s lips or hands, another pair pressed against them is all he can see.

Maybe this job thing came at the right time, Harry thinks. He could use some space to clear his head.

“Is that a no on the night out?” Niall says, poking him lightly in the side.

“No. I mean, that no was a no, but not a no to the club. Is it a club? A pub is fine, but I’d rather go to a club.”

“Okay. Nap first, though,” Niall says and stretches out in the grass.

“Always,” Harry replies, making himself comfortable with his head on Niall’s tummy. The sun is warm and there’s a dog barking in the distance.

If he tries hard enough, he can almost pretend not to think about Nick at all.

 

***

 

“Azelia Banks there, with _Esta Noche_. Still sounding so good that record, bit of a throw-back that isn’t in Finchy? He’s nodding, yeah, still into it even though it’s been out for years now.” Nick looks down at his notes, finishes off the link and queues up two songs.

It’s quiet in the studio, Matt silently working on whatever it is he does when Nick doesn’t distract him for a couple of minutes. Probably checking e-mail or something. When they first started working together, Finchy fresh off Moyles’ team and Nick being the still new kid on Radio 1 despite his years on weekend breakfast, he didn’t think they would work. Matt had always seemed like the clipboard-y kind of producer, cardigans and button-ups contrasting to Nick’s leather jacket and band shirts. It took about a week to completely throw that notion out and since then, they have only gotten closer.

“No flatmate coming in today?”

Nick drains his Diet Coke, shakes his head. “Nope.”

There’s nothing happening in the studio, he has no plans after the show and he’s desperate for a fag. He’s gotten out of the habit of smoking a pack a day since Harry moved in, too distracted by the hair and the dimples and the utterly endearing personality to notice the itch for nicotine, but now it’s back in full force.

It doesn’t really matter since he’s not got enough time to run out for a quick smoke anyway, even with two records together, it’s too short a time for getting up and down the stairs with enough time left in the middle for even getting the lighter out of the pocket of from his skinny jeans.  

Harry hasn’t come to the studio since he got the job on Dev’s show and Nick can’t think about it without something constricting in his chest. Matt has gone back to his computer, nothing is blowing up on twitter and Nick’s already had too much caffeine to justify going for another brew. There’s nothing to distract him.

He noticed it immediately when Harry started hanging out with him again, always a little extra space between them on the couch, a larger gap between their bodies at gigs, bro-hugs instead of close cuddles. It worked for a while, before Harry got his job and then suddenly everything stopped again. Harry’s already gone when Nick gets up in the morning and in the hours between Harry getting off work and Nick going in to prep for the show, he always seems to have things to do, things that don’t involve Nick. They haven’t properly hung out in weeks and it’s tearing on Nick, and what’s worse is, he doesn’t know what he’s done. He thought they were good.

Maybe he’s lost Harry’s respect by dragging home one guy too many, maybe he's overheard a little too much or Nick have been too clingy or maybe…

Maybe Harry is simply done with Nick.

Harry’s young; he’s new to London and the music scene he seems to be born into. He’s already got a network of people inviting him to gigs, asking him to write a quick review for some glossy indie magazine or to _‘please show up to the party next week, everyone will be there’_. He doesn’t need Nick to introduce him anymore, and that seems to have petered out any interest Harry ever had in Nick’s general person.

That time when Harry had kissed him seems ages away now, a fluke in the greater scheme of things. It was probably boredom, or an attempt to humour Nick. For as long as Nick’s known him, Harry’s always been excellent at giving people what they want as a way of getting his way. He can charm anyone into thinking that the favour they’re giving him is for their own good. Maybe that was it; he noticed Nick’s eyes on him and decided to go for it in case it could help him somewhere down the line. The means to a now achieved end.

Nothing more, nothing less. Nick hates himself for thinking it, but once the thought has entered his mind, it won’t budge.

This is the reason he doesn’t let people in. Nick is excellent at socialising, lives for non-boring small talk and willingly attends any event he gets an invitation to, but he’s rubbish at really opening up to new people. The group of friends he’s got have been there for years and they’ve stuck with each other.

Pixie had been an angry, too-loud fifteen year-old who had had adults shush her all her life. Nick had been the first one to not only let her scream as loud as she’d like, but to also scream right back at her. Henry had been fresh out of uni, printing t-shirts and sketching through the nights in order to get his company going. Nick had stolen sample clothes whenever Henry had been out, wearing them to any and every public event he could. He always made sure that the people around him knew who he was wearing and how amazing he thought the clothes were. (Hens used to act like he was annoyed by it, but suddenly be a pair of pants in the material Nick had been eyeing while tagging along to the fabric store, would appear, folded innocently in one of Nick’s drawers.)

They’d grown up together, a bunch of weirdos with their sights set high. Always insecure of where they were going to end up, always fiercely protective of each other.

No matter how much Nick loves interacting with new people, there are certain defences that are always up. Like, Nick doesn’t mind sharing his bed with near-strangers, platonically or not, but unless it’s one of his closest friends, he makes sure to be the first one up in the morning, prefers to be showered and dressed before his guest wakes up. It’s just self-preservation at this point, a routine he follows without thinking. It’s also why he usually finds his hook-ups at fashion events or through his friends outside of the music- (and radio) industry.

There’s been a few times too many when he’s gotten smitten with someone only to find out that they, conveniently enough, have had a single out or are vying for a record deal. The memory of the time a guy fucked him only to ask for an internship at the BBC the morning after still stings.

It’s just… He didn’t _want_ Harry to be like that, he wanted a reality where this lovely boy who’s stormed into his life liked him enough to stay. Not one where Nick was nothing more than a well-connected phone book. Not one where he has, once again, started to feel something for someone who so very obviously couldn’t care less.

Nick has done a lot of things in his life, but using someone to advance in his work is not one of them.

He thought that was something he and Harry had in common.

 

Matt is gesturing thirty seconds left on the record and Nick pulls his headphones on, runs a quick hand through his hair. Back to work.

 

***

 

Harry’s been working a lot lately, trying to make a good enough impression on everyone so that they’ll keep him on, maybe even to set up for a promotion somewhere in the future. He likes Dev and gets along well with Adam. The main producer Linn is nice enough, but she’s all business which makes their relationship strictly professional. He asked Adam about it and he said not to take it personally, she’d never been the type to befriend the people she works with.

They have a team night out a couple of weeks after Harry joins the show, pints and karaoke in a small bar in South London. Him and Dev makes a truly fantastic rendition of _Gangnam Style_ , and Harry spends about an hour discussing pastries with Scott Mills, whose team joins them a couple hours in.

Suddenly, a lot of excited whoops and greetings are hollered through the room. Harry looks up and feels his heart slightly sink. Matt Fincham is clutching a vodka tonic and is making his way round the room, giving out one-armed hugs and cheek kisses.

 _Please_ , he thinks, _please don't let him walk through that door, I’ve only just started to be okay with this hole in my chest._

Just as Harry tries to brace himself, Nick walks into the room and Harry’s defences come tumbling down. They’ve not seen each other outside of the flat since Harry started working and he’s abruptly reminded of how Nick can move through a crowd, how he can light up a room. He’s wearing a shirt that dips below his collarbones and Harry has to turn away, has to drain the rest of his drink just to have something occupy his mouth.

He’s afraid he’ll start spilling secrets if he doesn’t.

“Harry!” Before he can turn around, he’s caught in a hug from behind. If the voice hadn’t given it away, the smell of spicy cologne would have tipped off who was enthusiastically embracing him.

“Hi Finchy,” Harry says.

After a final squeeze, Matt lets go of him and Harry turns around to face him, polite smile firmly in place. When he takes in Matt’s sensible button-up and trainers it turns into a real smile. He’s missed coming to the studio and winding up Finchy, but he’d almost forgotten that they had also become tentative friends sometime during those nights. Matt was good at diffusing tension and keeping Nick in line. He was also one of the first people to text and congratulate Harry on the new job, phone beeping while Harry had been having lunch with Gellz. Despite everything between them, Harry still treasured that moment since it meant Nick had taken the time to text Finchy the good news, American Models be damned.

“You never come in anymore, how dare you leave me alone with him? He’s all whiny now, no fun at all,” Matt said, not noticing Harry’s face slightly falling.

When he catches sight of Nick over Matt’s shoulder though, Harry puts his polite face back on and goes for a cheeky smile. “Well, you know. I can’t be a time-traitor, have to stick to mornings now, don’t I?”

Matt gasps dramatically and turns around. “Nick! Harry says he’s too good for us.”

Nick has always had a good poker face, but Harry’s never had it directed at him before. It’s slightly jarring. He can still see the slight twitch under his eye, the way his hands are moving a bit too boisterous, but otherwise Nick looks relaxed, happy. His eyes are focused somewhere just left of Harry’s shoulder, but it’s not so obvious that anyone other than Harry could notice.

“Well, we already knew that, didn’t we?”

Matt huffs out a laugh and turns back to Harry.    

“How’s the singing going?”

“Um, it’s good, it’s great. I think there’s a piano in one of the other rooms, if you wanna have a go.”

Matt’s eyes light up and he gets a determined look on his face. “Hold my drink,” he says and thrusts his glass into Harry’s hands. He bounds off out of the room, presumably to talk to the manager.

 

 

When Harry looks up at the room again, Nick is grabbing a microphone and the intro to _Crazy In Love_ starts playing. Harry swallows and fixes his eyes on the floor, wills them to behave. He’s not going to get weepy over a Beyoncé track, even though he and Nick once spent an entire evening constructing a dance to this song, complete with hand gestures and everything. They were meant to go out, but when it turned 2 am and they _still_ hadn’t got the steps to the second verse down, they decided to bring out the wine and make a night of it.

Harry places Finchy’s glass on the nearest table and slips out of the room. He doesn’t look back to see who Nick is singing with. He doesn’t see Nick trying to catch his eye and he definitely doesn’t see how Nick hands over the mic to Dev, insisting that he picked the wrong song and that he _'will take the next one, promise’_.

 

***

 

The night turns into a disaster. Not for the whole group, Nick reckons that 98 percent of the people are having a right laugh, but for him and Harry, it’s awful. The problem isn’t Harry himself, they’re far too used to skilfully avoid each other by now that a night out together won’t be a problem, no, the problem is that no one else knows that they’re having a… thing.

Finchy keeps pushing them together, engaging both of them in conversation and then looking a little lost when they’re not bouncing off each other like they used to. Dev keeps needling Harry about giving up some dirt about what it’s like living with Nick and Scott has definitely had too many glasses of white wines cause he keeps cooing at them, insisting that they are the cutest non-couple he’s ever seen.

Harry is laughing, playing along but he’s _not touching Nick_ , playfully presses himself against Finchy when they’re sharing the piano stool and serenading Producer Laura from Greg’s show but he’s not touching Nick. It might be the alcohol and it may be the familiar mix of pride and jealousy Nick gets whenever he sees Harry charm everyone around him, but suddenly, he can’t stand it. He has to fix this, whatever it is that’s hanging between them. Harry is hugging Adam goodbye and Nick can’t not do anything about it.

He does the only thing he can think of – he waits until Harry’s going to the bathroom, hangs back a few minutes before following him and positions himself outside, trying to look casual. It’s a fancy enough place that there is only one bathroom in each corridor. Considering that there are five karaoke rooms, holding up to twelve people in each, it’s not great. It’s possible that there will be an angry queue outside by the time Nick’s said whatever it is he needs to say to get Harry back, but this is too important for such petty details.

The door unlocks and Harry comes into view. Before he can take more than a step out of the bathroom though, Nick pushes him back in and gets in after him.

The automatic lights flicker a little and Nick locks the door behind them.

“Ehm.” Harry looks confused and a little… scared? Nick needs to fix this, he needs to fix it _now_.

“Hi.”

 _Strong start, you idiot_ , a voice in his brain whispers. Nick squares his shoulders and tells the voice to fuck off.

“So. We need to talk.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, fiddles a little with his shirt. He doesn’t speak.

“Okay, I’ll start.” Nick says and then his mind goes blank. “Um.”

He looks down at his boots, scruffs them against the floor. “How’s the job going?”

“Fine.”

“Good,” Nick nods. “Good.”

There’s water slowly dripping from the faucet. Harry is standing less than five feet away and Nick misses him.

“You’re wearing your mum shirt.”

Harry looks up. “What?”

“The… the shirt you wear when your mum visits. Or when you, like, Skype her.” Nick can feel his ears going red and this is not what he planned.

Harry looks down at his shirt, frowns a little. “I wear the same one everytime?”

“Yeah.”

Harry smooths out the fabric over his chest, still looking a little dumbfounded.

“I like it,” Nick blurts out, “I think it’s sweet.”

There’s a faint blush creeping over Harry’s cheeks. “Thank you.”

Nick clears his throat, shuffles his feet a little. “So, the thing I wanted to talk about was-“

“My shirt?”

“No Harold, not your shirt.”

“Seems like you wanted to talk about my shirt.” The dimple is slowly appearing and Nick can’t help the stupid smile spreading across his face.

“Well, I don’t.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Harry shrugs, but keeps an eyebrow raised in that way he _knows_ drives Nick nuts.

“Shut up.”

Harry smirks.

“Ugh, I hate you.”

It’s only for a millisecond, but Harry’s face happiness washes off in an instant before another, blander smile is in place. Nick has messed everything up _so bad_.

He closes the distance between them and throws his arms around Harry, burrows his face in the other’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I didn’t mean it.”

He doesn’t specify what it is he regrets, and to be honest, he doesn’t quite know. He has so many things to apologize for; taking up too much of Harry’s time, finding himself insanely attracted to him, avoiding him, making him doubt their friendship, thinking that Harry was using him for a job, continuing to avoid him, fucking up, fucking up, fucking up.

After a few seconds, Harry’s body gives in and relaxes in Nick’s grip. His arms come up to clutch Nick closer, his breath a little too quick in Nick’s ear.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry, please don’t be upset.”

Harry’s fingers burrow into Nick’s shirt and holds on for dear life. Nick squeezes his eyes closed, tries to take slow and even breaths.

The faucet is still dripping and the sound of drunken singing trickles in through the walls but they stand silently under the harsh fluorescent light.

“You seemed so happy with not spending time with me.” Harry’s voice is timid, his hands trembling slightly.

“No, I wasn’t. I really wasn’t.” Nick strokes a hand up Harry’s back, tries to push himself impossibly closer. “I was just a bit stupid.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t want to let go, and it seems like Harry doesn’t either.

“I’ve just really mi-“

There’s a knock on the door and whatever Harry wanted to say is drowned under the sound of someone drunkenly shouting to let them in.

“I need a piss, come on mate!” It’s not a voice Nick recognises, which will make this a little awkward.

“Ehm.”  He lets go of Harry, takes a small step back.

Harry quickly wipes his cheeks with one hand, the other one tangled in his hair. “We should probably go back.”

“Yeah.”

They look at each other and smile. “He’s gonna think we’ve shagged.”

Harry pulls Nick closer, throws an arm around his shoulders. “Well, come on Grimshaw. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Nick snorts but obligingly puts a hand on Harry’s waist. Harry unlocks the door and strides out, passes the guy standing outside with a nod and drags Nick with him down the corridor.

They follow the sound of Finchy’s piano playing and find their way back to their room. The rest of the night is not all smooth sailing, but it’s better, so much better than before.

 

Nick goes to bed alone but happier than he’s been in ages.

 

***

 

It’s not a surprise when Gillian looks at him over her tea-cup one morning and says “Do you mind if I give your number to Dave?” but it still throws him a little.

Dave the receptionist has been flirty every time Harry’s been visiting Gillian – which has been more often since him and Nick started drifting  - and he’s sort of expected a move from him. Still.

“Um. I don’t know.”

“Why not? You think he’s fit, he thinks you’re fit, go out on a date and see if he’s fit enough to take home.”  

Harry carefully brushes away some crumbs from his lap. “I don’t think I’m up for it.”

Gillian puts down her cup, leans over to him. “Harry. I adore you and I really like it when we’re both hanging out in the flat, but you need to get laid.”

Harry snorts. Gillian smiles at him. “Go on. He’s nice!”

“Alright, fine. Give the number, but if this ends up awfully, it’s your fault.”

“Fine.”  She returns to her tea with a small smirk. He can’t resist kicking her ankle under the table.

 

*** 

 

“I miss Harry.” It’s a Saturday night and he’s just tipsy enough to admit it.

“He left fifteen minutes ago, Grim.” Gillian is drinking wine straight from the bottle whilst looking more and more doe-eyed at the sight of Dermot O’Leary on the telly.

Nick is in a ratty t-shirt and boxers, wolfing down some cheese. It’s not even good cheese, just some cheap crap he found near the back of the fridge. He would give a kingdom for some nice Brie.

“I know.” He cuts another slice. “Why did he leave? Never in anymore, is he?”

He’s not looking at her, but he can sense Gellz face frowning up and going all judge-y. It’s mostly her eyebrows. She’s got some scary eyebrows.

“ _You_ are always out, me and H usually sit here every night. He has a job, you know.”

“So do I! Didn’t stop him before.” He knows he’s whining now, but it’s half nine on a Saturday night and he’s got nothing else to do other than devour this piece of pasteurized milk.

He’s supposed to be the hip, cool guy, the one who’s down with the kids. He’s supposed to be out there, raving and getting twatted on cheap beer and expensive champagne. At some point during the past few months Nick’s brain seems to have rewired and all his party plans have gone from _‘going out with absolutely anyone’_ to _‘going out with Harry’_. The cheese and the wine must have made him temporarily forget about Harry just coming back around to wanting to hang out with him, so when Haz suddenly popped out of his room long enough to announce that he had plans for the evening before flying out the front door, Nick felt a sting of rejection he’s been carefully ignoring for weeks.

He doesn’t feel like leaving the flat anymore, plans to stay in and eat until the fridge is empty. It might be a problem, this constant longing for someone’s attention, how comfortable Nick feels with Harry despite just having known him for a relative short amount of time, but he can’t get himself out of it. He also can’t get Harry out of his head, no matter how hard he tries.

He’s slept with a handful of people since he and Harry had their bonding-in-the-bathroom talk, but every time, without fail, the first thing he had wanted to do after waking up the next day was to kick out the person next to him in bed so that he could eat eggs on toast with his flat-mate.

It is entirely possible that Nick is screwed, and not in a good way.

“Where was he going anyway?”

“You don’t remember?”

Nick shrugs. “Didn’t really listen to what he said, all I saw was a whole lot of flannel and boots.” He pauses long enough to bite off another piece directly from the lump of cheese. Knives are for weaklings. “I think those were my boots. Maybe I should take them back.”

“Don’t think you’d be welcome, love.”

“Pfft. Hazza’s friends love me. It’s cause I’m well cool, you know, cause radio DJ and all.”

“Not with his friends, though, is he. Think it may ruin his date if you were to barge in there and demand your shoes back.” Gillian takes another swig of the wine. Nick’s mouth is suddenly very, very dry.

“What?” He forces out. Gellz looks over at him, immediately tensing up and actually puts down the bottle.

This is bad.

“Grimmy.”

“No, it’s fine.” He grabs the wine and throws it back. It’s too sour and too red and too-

“Nick.” Gillian takes the bottle back. “He’s allowed to go out with people.”

“Sure. Of course he is. No problem with me. He can fuck around as much as he likes.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously. How many stupid models have you been shagging in the past couple of weeks?”

“You told me to!” he shouts.

“I did not and you know it.”

“Did too.”

Gellz is trying to make eye contact but he avoids it best he can. He knows he’s being unreasonable, but at this point, resistance is futile. She gives up and simply climbs onto his lap, locking his wrists down with one hand, grabbing his jaw with the other. She can be freakishly strong when she chooses to.

“What I said was ‘don’t sleep with Harry’, not ‘please sleep with everyone else in London’. Fuck sake, Grim.”

“But-“

“No.” She studies him a little too close. “Oh, god. This is a thing isn’t it?”

He swallows. “No.”

She lets go of his wrists, sort of pats them with her hand. “It’s okay if you like him.”

Maybe he should eat some more cheese. Cheese is good. Cheese doesn’t demand conversation or emotional maturity. Cheese is a good friend. If he wasn’t lactose intolerant, cheese could be the love of his life.

He is decidedly not looking at Gillian.

“I thought you just wanted to fuck him.”

“I do.”

“No. You want to date him,” she says, something bordering on pity in her voice.

Fuck that.

“Get off it,” he says, pushing her off his lap, back to the couch. “I’m going out.”

 

He ends up calling almost everyone in his phonebook before Henry agrees to go for a pint. Henry’s boyfriend is out of town and even though _‘I have so much work Grim, it’s not even funny. Some of us have proper jobs, you know’_ , Nick manages to persuade him.

They meet up at one of their favourite pubs, one of the rare few that’s got both good beer and decent chips. Henry is dressed in all white, tiny violins embroidered all over his shirt and matching pants.

Nick is in a ratty pair of jeans and a top low-cut enough to show off his chest hair. He’s found it to be a very successful mating cry to east London’s fashion elite before, and he’s hoping tonight will be no different.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be on the prowl,” Henry drawls when they’ve found a small table in the back.

“I’m not.”

“You’re wearing one of your fuck-me-shirts, love.”

Nick shrugs and takes a swig of his beer.

Henry smiles. “Alright, then. How’s the show going?”

Nick is about to answer when something catches his eye. Something tall, with a flannel shirt and stolen boots.

He really is screwed.

“Nick?” Harry looks adorably confused, squinting his eyes a little as to see clearer. Granted, the lighting in the pub is mostly made up of tiny spotlights and cell phone screens. “What are you doing here?”

Harry’s holding two beers in his hand and Nick’s brain goes into panic mode. He shoots a quick look of panic in Henry’s direction before grabbing his hand. “Just, you know. Out and about.”

Henry only looks slightly surprised, but doesn’t react otherwise. Nick will never speak ill of him ever again.

Harry’s face falls slightly as he looks down on their intertwined fingers, but when he looks back up he’s got a polite smile on. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Nick says, voice going a little too loud. “What… eh, what’s up?”

He cringes slightly at his own awkwardness, but continues to look Harry in the eyes. Didn’t David Attenborough say that you should never look away from a predator? Nick can sort of see himself as an antelope, if Harry is a cheetah. He ignores the voice in the back of his head that wants to remind him that cheetahs usually outrun the antelope, no matter how much they’ve been looking each other in the eyes. Harry’s eyes are too pretty to belong to an aggressive animal, anyway. They hold more of a koala sort of look, sometimes going into cow-territory.

“I’m here with Dave. On a date.” Harry looks down at his hands, changes the grip on the bottle-necks. “So. Should probably get back.”

Nick nods. “Sure. I’ll see you back home.” He’s still holding Henry’s hand. It's starting to feel more and more like a life-boat.

“Yeah. See ya.” Harry looks a little defeated now. He gives a polite nod to Henry, who tips his beer in return, gives Nick a small smile before turning around to fight his way through the crowd.

Nick let’s go of Henry’s hand as soon as Harry is out of sight, busies himself with his drink. Waits for it.

“That was the most darling thing I’ve ever seen.”

There it is. Henry has never been one to let a dead dog lie (the dead dog here being Nick’s total and utter embarrassment).

“ _Such_ a lovely little thing. Where have you been hiding him?”

“He’s the new flatmate,” Nick grumbles.

“Oh.” Henry sounds a little less teasing and a bit more understanding. “And you were holding my hand because…”

Nick squirms a little. “I dunno.”

Henry looks like he wants to push it further, but Nick shakes his head.

Amazingly, Henry lets it go. They spend the rest of the night slagging of the fashion choices displayed around them. Around midnight, Nick spots Harry leaving. There’s a guy next to him who looks somewhat familiar, but Nick doesn’t look long enough to place him.

He hopes they’ll go back to the guys place. Nick knows he’s being a hypocrite, but he doesn’t think he could stomach having breakfast with Harry and his bed-buddy. Maybe Nick should avoid going back to the flat, just in case.

“Can I sleep at yours?” He tries puppy-eyes on Henry, who laughs at him.

“Yeah, but only if you stop looking like a Labrador.”

Henry’s always been his favourite.

 

***

 

Nick comes home the next day, back a bit achy after sleeping on Henry’s lumpy couch. Hens always insists that it’s a precious antique that’s not made for comfort, but that does nothing to soothe Nick’s bones. He’s a little grumpy when he walks through the door, desperately hoping that the flat will be empty.

Or empty except for a non-newly-shagged Harry. That would be nice too.

“Hello?” The living room is empty, but it’s also clean which tells him Harry has been here. Both Nick and Gillian are notoriously bad at keeping tidy, a trait that used to cause fights about twice a day. Henry liked it to be airy and neat around him and, apparently, week-old papers and take-out containers cramped his style.

Since Harry’s moved in though, the place has been in excellently well-kept and it’s not because Gillian’s had a personality change. (Nick may have gotten better at tidying simply because Harry gets this pleased look on his face whenever he does. Nick may or may not have become a complete sap. It’s the dimples.) What’s worse, Harry seems to like cleaning, says it helps him de-stress.

Nick is still standing in front of the coffee table, staring stupidly at the spot where Gellz’s wine bottle stood not twelve hours ago, when the cleaner himself walks out of his bedroom.

Harry’s wearing some kind of yoga pants that makes his legs go on for about thirty days, matched with an oversized sweater. Nick wants to lick him.

“Hiya.”

“Hey.” Nick shakes himself out of it. “Did you tidy?”

Harry nods, busies himself with refolding a blanket. “Helps me calm down when I’m stressed.”

“Bad date?”

Harry’s hands freeze on the blanket, before slowly smoothing out the fabric. “No. It was okay.”

Nick really doesn’t want the details, forces his voice to sound somewhat enthusiastic. “So! What are you doing today?”

“Uhm. Just, like laundry and stuff.”

“Alright, I’ll help.”

That gets a snort out of Harry. Always a start. “No, you’re not. You’ll ruin it.”

“Heey! When have I ever? I don’t even think you can ruin laundry. Just throwing the stuff in with some powder, innit.”

Harry just raises his eyebrows at him.

“Fine,” Nick huffs. “I’ll just watch you do it then.”

“Sounds like fun.” People really don’t give Haz enough credit for his sarcasm, Nick thinks.

“We haven’t hung out for _ages_ ,” Nick whines.

“Well, you’ve been busy,” Harry mumbles. Before Nick can comment, Harry’s stretching out his back and Nick promptly forgets every word in the English language. He’s not wearing anything underneath the sweater and his skin looks smooth and so, so touchable. When it disappears back under the fabric, Nick immediately misses it.

Harry’s yawning, trotting back in the direction of his room. “I’ll just get the stuff and we can go down.”

To the basement, Nick frantically tells himself, that’s what he means. Down to the laundry room thingie, filled with washing powder and lonely socks lying forgotten in corners. No other kind of going down is happening.

When Harry comes back out, arms full of a weaved laundry basket and a pink set of washing powder and fabric softener (this boy will endear him to death), Nick has managed to calm down enough that he can speak without fearing for his voice to be uncomfortably squeaky. “You’re like a proper laundry person, aren’t you?”

“Laundry person?”

“I was going to say house wife but then you’d be banging on about how it should be called house partner or summat.” Nick slings a casual arm over Harry’s shoulders.

They start down the stairs together, a bit unbalanced since Nick refuses to let go of Harry, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“It _should_ be called house partner,” Harry grumbles.

Nick smiles.

 

***

 

It’s two days later and Harry is getting in from work, already exhausted at ten in the morning. He loves his job, but getting up at two every night isn’t exactly what he’s used to.

“You okay?” Nick is on the couch, cradling a bowl of cereal. He looks well-rested and soft, blanket around his legs and hair a mess. It might be because he’s too tired to be careful, but Harry makes a beeline to the couch and cuddles into Nick’s side.

It’s been a while since they’ve done this, Grim too busy with his conquests and Harry too scared of getting closer than he can handle. He’s missed it though, and by the way Nick pulls him closer, he can pretend that Nick has too.

The telly is playing on low volume, some morning show Harry can’t find the will to concentrate on. He yawns and steals the blanket covering Nick’s legs and throws it over both of them. Somehow he’s managed to squirm under Nick’s arm and he’s currently twisting around to find a comfortable way to store his legs. What he really wants it to lie down with his head in Nick’s lap, but he’s not sure if it’s allowed. A couple of weeks ago, he’d do it without a second thought. It’s different now though, at least for Harry.

“Oh, for… Come here,” Nick huffs and puts down his bowl. He pulls at Harry until he sits up properly, grabs hold of Harry’s legs and throws them over his own. Harry is very careful not to make any sudden movements in case Nick were to realise that he’s basically cradling Harry in his lap. Nick doesn’t seem to mind, simply tucks the blanket around Harry and leans back, humming slightly.

Harry melts into Nick, tucks his nose into Nick’s neck and breathes in. He’s got a warm arm around his back, another on his leg, a thumb stroking slowly over his thigh. Nick is still humming tunelessly, the sound reverberating in his chest, creating yet another source of comfort. Harry places a hand on top of Nick’s chest, just under his heart, near enough to feel the beats. He falls asleep before he can count ten.

 

***

 

Nick only meant to close his eyes for a second, but when he wakes up, the light from outside has disappeared and a dull rain is smattering against the windows. He’s on his back with Harry curled up half on top of him. His arms are locked around Harry’s narrow waist, clutching him tightly.

Nick slowly lightens his grip, but that only makes Harry snuggle closer, mumbling a little in his sleep. Nick takes a deep breath – ignoring the smell of coconut shampoo because he needs to _focus_ – and starts to wriggle his way away from the sleeping boy on top of him.

He doesn’t get far before Harry wakes up. He seems a bit groggy when he peers down at Nick, but then his mind seems to click awake.

“Oh.”

Nick gives him a small smile. Harry yawns and burrows his face into Nick’s chest, breathing in deeply. If there’s a school somewhere in the Alps where you teach kids to forget how to speak, Nick could be the headmaster. Not only because his tongue is currently stuck to the roof of his mouth, but also because that would mean he would be far, far away.

“Time is it?” Harry’s voice is scratchy.

Nick wiggles Harry’s arm out from underneath him and takes a look at the ridiculously expensive watch hanging of Harry’s skinny wrist.

“’S almost three.”

“In the afternoon?”

“No Harold, three AM.” Nick flicks Harry’s arm. Harry grumbles a little but doesn’t move.

Nick has a fleeting worry that maybe Harry’s gone into some kind of coma, where his brain works but his body is immobile. Harry does stretch his legs a bit though, so probably not.

“Gotta go soon.” Harry mumbles.

“Yeah? Were you going?”

“Dinner. Movie.” Harry says and Nick freezes slightly.

“Date?” he says, desperately trying to sound casual. He doesn’t do very well.

“Mm.” Harry says, rolling off Nick and stumbling to his feet.

Nick sits up, fiddles a little with the blanket. “Is it… the same guy?”

“Yeah.”

Nick nods. “Wow. Two dates in a week, sounds like a serious relationship you’ve got there.” He tries to make it sound like a joke to mask the question of _‘does this mean you have a boyfriend?’_ that’s burning in his throat.

Judging by the sharp look Harry’s throwing him, his jovial tone missed the mark. “Yeah? How would you know?”

Harry stalks off to his room. Nick pulls the blanket tighter around him and turns on the telly.

 

***

 

Nick goes to work and decidedly does not think about Harry and his date becoming _Harryandhisdate_ – power couple extraordinaire, instead focusing on his interview with a new electronic duo he actually likes and tries to sound enthusiastic about the latest Iggy-record. He lets Fincham choose the track for the 1000 records feature and orders enough pizza for the whole team.

He doesn’t want to make any more people he cares about angry at him, so he spends a good portion of the time music is played with texting various friends, some to keep in touch, others just to remind them that he exists and still needs attention.

Henry answers most of his texts until he seemingly has enough and phones up during The Klaxons new single.

“What’s wrong with you?” He sounds mostly exasperated and Nick doesn’t want to tip him off that it’s something more than obnoxious whining, so he answers something flippant. It doesn’t work.

“I’ll pick you up after your show,” Henry says, cutting him off, “and stop bugging people.”

Nick hangs up and carefully deletes all the letters in his half-finished text to Harry.

 

 

“You wanna drink yourself to sleep or you wanna eat yourself to a coma?”

“Both,” Nick answers, staring out the cab window.

“Alright, Alley Cat it is.”

“Fine,” Nick says. He knows he’s being prickly, but he doesn’t care much.

Henry nods and starts drumming the beat of the song playing on the radio on his leg. London looks cold as it swishes by outside the car.

 

 

“Is it a real thing or is it the thing where you can’t have him?” Henry asks, popping a chip in his mouth. They’ve got a good table, sitting tucked against the wall with a great view of the entire place. With greasy food and two pints each in front of them, Nick is ready to just get it over with. He didn’t mean to mention his Harry-problem, but he slipped and now he can’t be bothered. Maybe if he just talks about it enough, it’ll disappear.

It’s not that big a thing after all.

“Can’t have him.”

Henry nods. “And that’s why you want him.”

Nick takes a deep sip of his beer. “Yep.”

“Okay,” Henry says, stabbing a piece of fish, “so all you have to do is to get over it.”

“Thanks for the advice, darling,” Nick drawls.

Henry lazily gives him the finger. “Dick. Just try and find stuff you don’t like about him and move on. You like him as a friend, you wanna keep him as a friend, don’t be a baby about it.”

Nick pokes his steak around, suddenly wishing he went for a salad. He can feel his arteries clogging up just looking down on his plate. The gravy is all over the place and he ordered extra chips, which apparently meant getting enough for a whole armada of hungry sailors. _Seamen_ , he hears Harry snicker inside his head.

“Fuck.” He’s in way too deep.

“What? Oh. Shit.” Henry looks torn between amusement and concern.

Nick feels like he’s missing something. “Huh? I was just thinking and then this thing popped up and-“

“Hey.”

Nick closes his eyes for a brief second and then looks behind him. Harry is standing next to a cute guy wearing a sensible cardigan and loafers.

“Hi.”

Harry looks between Henry and Nick, then down on the table. “Out for dinner?” His voice sounds a little forced.

“Yes.”

Harry nods. The guy next to him clears his throat and Harry turns his attention to him. “Oh, right, sorry. This is... ehm.” Nick is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that Harry has never been properly introduced to Henry.

“Henry Holland,” Henry says, holding out his hand. The guy reaches over to shake it.

“Dave,” he says, then turns to Nick. “I think we’ve met before, haven’t we?”

Nick is drawing a blank. “Uh… I’m sorry, I don’t…”

”Dave works in Gellz reception,” Harry cuts in. Nick can feel the cartoon light bulb go off above his head.

“Of course, yeah, sorry. Hi.”

Dave nods politely at him, “Hi.”

Nick grasps for something to say, chooses to go with the worst cliché running through his mind, because why the hell not. “Harry’s told me so much about you. You... you make a lovely couple.”

Silence. There’s a vast sea of silence between them. Henry is looking down at his plate, shoulders slightly shaking. Harry is staring at Nick and Dave is busy looking between them. Nick can feel his whole face heat up, but he doesn’t look away from Harry. It feels like a challenge now, and he doesn’t know why, but he _needs_ to win it.

In the end, it’s Dave who breaks the standstill. “Probably shouldn’t keep you from your food any longer.” He puts a light hand on Harry’s arm. Nick is surprised it doesn’t catch on fire, considering the collective stare the gesture receives from both him and Harry – Harry’s slightly disoriented, Nick’s tense.

Harry shakes himself out of his stupor. “Yeah,” he says, “we should… get a table.”

After some awkward half-waves, they make their way through the pub. Nick tries to focus on his food, but the steak looks even less appetizing now and he can feel his stomach tense up at the thought of finishing it.

“You are so full of shit.”

“Shut up.”

“No, honestly.” Henry leans over the table, “you’ve never acted like such a dickhead around someone you just wanted to fuck. Ever. And I’ve known you for a pretty long time.”

“Yeah, well, maybe not long enough,” Nick mutters.

“This is some Jonny-level shit. Do you like this guy?”

“No,” Nick says curtly. He can’t put Jonny and Harry together in his head, there’s a very real chance he might explode.

“Do you like this guy?” Henry presses.

Nick focuses on his plate. He’s not going to eat it, but maybe the waitress will give him brownie points for cutting up his steak in neat little cubes. Or she’ll give him an actual brownie. A mountain of chocolate-covered carbs sounds amazing at the moment.

“Grimmy.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Nick says, still looking down at his plate.

Henry grabs hold of Nick’s wrists, forces him to meet his eyes. “Nick. _Do you like this guy_?”

“No! Give it a fucking rest, will you?” Nick hisses and wrenches his hands free. He grabs his coat off the back of his chair and goes for the exit. He needs to clear his head. He needs to get away from this place before the very real threat of him seeing _HarryandDave_ sitting together in some dark corner actually comes true. Doesn’t want to think, or watch, or feel.

He reaches the door and pushes it open, welcoming the chilled air into his lungs. A few steps later, he’s on the curb searching for a cab. He’s just jumped into one when someone comes running out of the pub.

Nick sighs but keeps the door open, in case it’s Henry who’s pissed at him for leaving the bill behind.

“You wanna close that door?”

“Hang on,” Nick replies.

The other backdoor opens and Harry slides in. “You okay?” he asks, breath a little rushed.

Nick nods dumbly. Harry looks down at his hands, then back up at Nick. He looks slightly embarrassed. “I just… I saw you leaving.”

“Uh, yeah. We kinda had a fight.”

Harry frowns a little, reaches over Nick to close his door. Nick holds his breath and looks away from how Harry is basically lying on top of his lap.

“We ready?” The cabby asks, voice irritated.

“Yeah,” Harry says and gives her the address.

 

It’s a quiet ride back to the flat, but Harry keeps a hand on top of Nick’s arm the whole time.

 

The flat is quiet when they get in, Gillian off on a work-party somewhere. Nick looks a little off kilter, fidgets for far too long with his coat.

Harry slips into the kitchen and gets the kettle going. He doesn’t know what’s been going on with Nick and Henry, he’s not even sure if he wants to find out, but a cuppa seems to work for his mum when he wants to calm someone down.

Harry’s leaning back against the counter when he suddenly remembers that Nick doesn’t like tea. He groans a little and pokes around in the fridge after a good alternative.

“I could use a beer, if we have any.”

Harry startles a little but finds a bottle behind a jug of milk. When he turns around, Nick looks tired. He smiles when accepting the drink, but the restless look he throws around the kitchen tells Harry that he is not over whatever happened in the pub.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Nick nods, opens his beer to take a deep sip. “It’s just. Henry, you know?”

Harry busies himself with finding his favourite mug and fetching the herbal tea from atop the counter. “Are you two…?”

“No.”

Harry breathes out a little, but tenses again when another thought occurs. “Did you break up?”

Nick doesn’t answer. The kettle clicks off, the fridge hums quietly and Nick doesn’t speak. When Harry turns around, it’s to find a startled look on his face, apprehension mixed with something he can’t quite make out.

“Yes.” It’s hesitant, like Nick is testing the waters, but it’s loud enough in the darkened room.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Harry says softly. “Are you… do you want to talk about it?”

Nick shakes his head, takes a sip and slams down the bottle a little too hard on the table behind him. Harry follows the muscles in his back as Nick reaches up to drag a hand through his hair.

“I think I’m just gonna go to bed,” Nick mutters, disappearing down the hall before Harry has a chance to reply.

The beer is still half-full and Harry watches the bubbles until they’re barely even there. His tea is cold when he climbs into bed, still fully clothed.

 

***

 

It’s starting to get light outside when a knock startles Harry from his half-sleep. Lying awake most of the night, going over the night over and over, trying to find a loophole somewhere, something to assure him that Nick isn’t heartbroken or about to get back together with Henry within a week.

Harry’s not a selfish person, but he knows that he would jump at the chance to be with Nick, even if that meant shutting Henry out, history or no history.

“Harry?” Nick’s voice is muffled through the door, hushed.

“Yeah,” Harry whispers.

The door opens and Nick pokes his head in. “You up?”

Harry nods. Nick looks conflicted, but takes a decisive step into the room. He shuts the door softly behind him. “I just… about earlier.” He pauses, pulls at his worn tee. It has a hole just under the left shoulder, the skin looking pale in contrast to the soft blue colour. “Probably shouldn’t have left like that.”

Harry has to fight to keep his face politely understanding. He will be supportive about this. He will. “Henry’ll understand. Call him in the morning and explain.”

“No, I meant with you, in the kitchen.”

“Oh.”

There’s a tension in the room now, one that Harry doesn’t even want to start to interpret. The last time he did, he ended up rejected.

“And about Henry, I think you misunderstood me,” Nick says, smile timid. “Cause it’s not really-“

“You don’t have to explain.” Harry cuts in, unable to listen to the break up details. He already wants to sort of punch Henry’s face a little for dating Nick, he doesn’t need more things to add in the ‘reasons to dislike Henry’-column as he’s pretty sure Nick will keep up their friendship. Harry sits up, feels the cool air against his skin as the sheet falls down to lie around his waist. “I thought you were sleeping. It’s pretty late.”

A quick flash of embarrassment flits over Nick’s face, but he catches himself quickly. “Yes.” He hesitates before taking the few steps over to the bed. “Don’t want you to think I was upset with you.”

“I didn’t,” Harry says honestly.

Nick reaches out to trace one of Harry’s tattoos with a fingertip. The anchor has been an in-joke for them ever since Harry moved in, they’ve taken countless selfies showing off their matching wrist tattoos and teased Gillian for not being part of the crew.

“Anyway,” Nick says, voice hoarse, “Just came in to say goodnight.”

Harry turns his hand so that they’re palm to palm. Nick’s finger pauses before resuming its movements.

“Nick.”

Harry reaches out to lightly grasp Nick’s hip with one hand. He looks up and meets Nick’s eyes. There’s want there, mixed with worry and fear. The knowledge that Nick’s scared too lands inside Harry and calms him down.

He’s sick of it though, so tired of constantly having to watch himself around his best friend. Harry tips his head up a little and gives himself up. There is no longer a point in hiding.

“Fuck,” Nick whispers before launching forward to push their lips together. It’s a soft kiss tinged with a dozen emotions at once. “Do you want to-“

“Yeah,” Harry says, pulling Nick closer. The sight of Nick towering over him sends a singe of heat through Harry’s body, makes him feel powerful and submissive at once.

“Okay,” Nick mumbles against his lips before breaking off to pull off his shirt. Harry pushes the sheets down to his feet, scrambles up to kneel on the bed and press a series of kisses along Nick’s neck. “Okay,” Nick says and climbs onto the bed with him.

 

 

They’ve been lying quietly, trying to catch their breath for a while when Nick trots off to the kitchen under the pretense of getting them some water.

He needs a minute alone, needs to ground himself and be reminded that this is as far as it can go. He can’t get lost in Harry’s body, in his skin or lips because if he starts to lose himself this time, he will never find his way back. It was a stupid thing to do, falling into bed with Harry but it was unavoidable in the end. Nick has been wanting this for too long, been counting the moments ever since their disastrous kiss a couple of weeks earlier.

Harry seems to want him too, but probably not in the way Nick wants to _have_ Harry, to claim him and be claimed in return. He rests his hands against the cool kitchen counter for a while, keeping his mantras on repeat in his head; _try to stay distanced_ and _don't show too much too soon_ and _don't scare him away_. Not only is Harry beautiful and young, he’s got a shine about him that instantly draws people in. It’s not the first time Nick’s encountered such a person, and he can’t say that the parting memories of the ones he's met before are pleasant.

He fills up two glasses and carries them carefully through the flat. He can’t remember if Gellz was to sleep at home or at a friend’s, but he makes sure to be quiet all the same. The last thing he needs right now is Gillian ripping him a new one for sleeping with their flatmate.

Harry’s sitting up when Nick comes through the door, fiddles a little with his hair. An intense wave of affection washes over Nick at the sight of him, sleepy and sated in the small room. He tries to temper it down, and puts on a nonchalant face before making his presence known.

“Your order, sir.”

Harry smiles at him, accepts the glass and drains it in a few seconds. Nick sips his own water, sits down on the edge of the bed.

“You alright?” Harry asks.

“Sure.” Nick avoids his eyes, focusing on the pictures on the wall. It’s a random collection of smiling family photos and Harry’s own photography tucked up with pins and tape.

“Is this… I mean. Are you upset because of Henry? Is that what…?” Harry is biting his lip when Nick turns back to him.

“Henry?” At Harry’s look Nick suddenly remembers that to Harry, Henry is Nick’s ex, the one who’s just dumped him.

Right. Not only has Nick broken his promise to Gillian, he’s managed to let himself get tangled up in an elaborate lie where Henry is his ex. _Such a fucking idiot_.

Nick must have been quiet for a beat too long because Harry folds his knees up, rests his chin on them. He looks calm, but his eyes have dropped down to study the sheets instead of Nick’s face.

This, at least, Nick has a chance of fixing. “No, no, no, this wasn’t about him. At all.” He tentatively places a hand on Harry’s arm. When it doesn’t get pushed away, he continues, “I like you.”

Harry’s cheeks tint slightly pink. “Like you too.”

Nick’s held breath rushes out of him, ends in a smile. “Alright.”

“So we can still hang out and stuff, right?” Harry’s fingers cover Nick’s wrist, holding it down lightly. Nick is fine with never moving his wrist again if it can stay on Harry’s warm body. “Like we did before everything got weird?”

Nick can feel his sappy smile take over his entire face. He doesn’t really mind. “Yeah,” he says and climbs up the bed to lie down beside Harry.

“Can we have naked hangouts too?”

“That’s the best kind.”

Harry’s dimple pops out. “Okay.”

Nick really doesn’t want to do this, but it’s probably The Right Thing, so he tries to sound casual. “And, you know. If you want to just have non-naked hangouts with me if you and Dave get like… serious or summat. Then you can just tell me and I’ll pull my pants up.”

Harry smiles easily and burrows into Nick’s side. “Nah. Like you better with your pants down.”

There’s a ridiculously giddy smile threatening to break out, but Nick manages to keep it down, a part of him still desperate to seem unaffected. He’s learned that he’s less likely to get hurt that way. “Only want me for my dick then.”

“Mhm. Yep.” Harry throws a leg over Nick’s, anchors them close together. “Just me and your penis, doing the do.”

Nick snorts and adjusts his arm over Harry’s shoulder. They can keep this fun and easy. That thing his chest is doing when Harry falls asleep half on-top of him is no big deal.

It won’t be a problem.

 

***

 

Nick manages to stave of the conversation for a while, but the third time he’s moved away from Harry the moment Gillian’s walked in the door, Harry gets a bit frowny and drags Nick off to his room.

“We have man-things to discuss, sorry Gellz,” he throws over his shoulder.

“I don’t even want to know what goes on in there,” she replies but gives Nick a significant look. He smiles and shakes his head. She nods.

This is why they need to have the conversation Nick has been avoiding. Gillian can’t know. She knows too much about the others, about how pathetic Nick got when it was over and how obsessive he was when they were hot and heavy.

She’s also made him promise not to sleep with Harry and, well, that’s all gone to shit. He really doesn’t want her yelling at him and clearly, him and Harry keeping everything on the down-low is the easiest way to avoid it.

Harry closes the door behind them. “Why are you being weird?”

Nick sits down on the bed. “I’m not.”

Harry leans back against the door, crosses his arms. “Yes you are.”

Even with his forehead scrunched up, he’s still terribly pretty. Nick can’t help but smile at him.

“Is it… do you not wanna tell people?”

“Well, you know.” Nick says, reaching out a hand to drag Harry closer. His room is quite small compared to Nick’s, barely room for a bookcase and a bed. Nick would probably feel worse about it if he hadn’t witnessed first-hand how little time Harry spends in here, which is pretty much only when he’s sleeping or moping. Or while having Serious Conversations, apparently. Nick’s not very good at them in general, so he plays it safe and turns to humour. “It _is_ quite embarrassing to shag someone with even bigger hair than myself.”

“Heey. Yours is all floppy, I can’t help it if I have more volume,” Harry pouts but walks up to stand in front of Nick, legs touching.

“Whatever you say, Styles.” Nick reaches up to tug on a lock that’s escaped from under the bandana.  

“Is it 'cause of Henry?” Harry asks carefully. “Because I understand if it is, you’ve only been broken up for a little while, like, you don’t want to hurt him and stuff.”

Nick has a split-second to decide. “Yeah,” he breathes out, not sure if he made the right call, but he’s going to hell anyway for lying in the first place, might as well burn on the way down. “It’s Hens. It would be awkward.”

Harry looks down at the nickname, nods to the carpet. He seems to steel himself, squaring his shoulders and putting on a smile. “That’s okay.”

Nick wants to make it better, put a proper smile on Harry’s face. He wants his own mind to shut up so he doesn’t run the risk of saying things he shouldn’t, things like _I really want to be with you, I really am rubbish at all this_ and _if you find out you’ll leave and I’m afraid of not having you_.

Instead, Nick grasps his wrists, swings their hands lightly. “So about this hair thing…”

Harry sits down on Nick’s lap. “Yeah? You got a problem with your floppy quiff?”

Nick tries to look offended but it’s rather difficult when Harry is moving his hips in circle eights, grinding down on Nick.

“Are you having a hard time accepting that my hair is better?” Harry grins. “D’you get it, cause like, _hard_ times.”

Nick snorts, pulls Harry in for a kiss. “I got it, very witty.”

Harry places light kisses on Nick’s jaw, works his way to the spot just under his ear. Nick is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he cannot move. His body feels frozen in the best way possible; he’s completely open to whatever Harry wants to do.

“Cause if you don’t get it,” Harry whispers in his ear, “I can get a dick-tionary for you.” He leans back, beaming at his own joke.

Nick groans and decides that he desperately needs to get them to the same page. The we-will-now-use-our-dicks-for-orgasms-and-not-jokes page.

He realises he’s still holding Harry’s wrists. He gives them a squeeze and feels Harry shudder in response. Interesting. He tugs them so that both arms go around Nick’s back and he locks them there. Harry licks his lips.

“I think it’s time to stop with the penis puns now,” Nick says and pushes his hips up.

Harry’s panting slightly but still makes time to mumble “You sure don’t want another gag from me?” before he starts meeting Nick’s movements, matching them with his own.

“Shut up,” Nick groans, and when Harry opens his mouth, Nick leans up and pushes their mouths together, swallowing Harry’s reply.

Gillian is still in the flat, so when Harry starts moaning, Nick panics and places a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. Harry makes a noise of protest, frees one of his hands to grasp Nick’s.

He pulls it off only to eagerly suck down on three fingers, locking eyes with Nick while working them in and out of his mouth.

Nick can feel his dick grow harder at the sight, yanks Harry closer to get a hand on his ass, speed up his movements. He dips his head to bite down on Harry’s collarbone, working the soft skin with his teeth, smoothing over the red mark with his tongue.

He can feel Harry shudder and his hand being released. The next moment, Harry is locking their mouths together, kissing him furiously while speeding up the movements of his hips.

“Fuck,” he whispers, barely audible against Nick’s lips, “Nick, just.”

“I got you, darling,” Nick pants, reaching a hand to stroke down Harry’s back. His fingers are still wet from Harry’s mouth, and after some wriggling he manages to get a hand inside Harry’s jeans, reaching down to rub a finger over Harry’s hole.

Harry stiffens a little and presses himself closer, breathing heavily in Nick’s ear. It only takes a few more thrusts from Nick to make him come, Harry following closely behind.

Nick sinks back on the bed, taking Harry with him. He moves his hand to rest against the small of Harry’s back, rubbing in circles.

Harry snuffles against his chest, making a home for himself against Nick’s body. “Well,” he mumbles. “That was an all-encompassing experience.”

Nick stays quiet, counts the seconds. It only takes four until Harry kind of bumps his forehead repeatedly against Nick’s jaw. “D’you get it? All-en _com_ passing. It’s very funny.”

“Idiot,” Nick says, gently working a hand through the knots in Harry’s hair.

“I’m hilarious,” Harry says sleepily.

“Sure you are,” Nick replies, pulling him in tighter.

Harry’s breathing slows down and a couple of minutes later he’s fast asleep, snoring slightly.

 _I think I could really love you_ , Nick thinks before closing his eyes.

 

***

 

Harry’s been sort of waiting for it, so when Gillian brings up Dave over breakfast, it’s no surprise.

“I thought you liked him,” she says, peering over the rim of her cup.

“I do, I just don’t feel like going on another date.” He carefully spreads jam on his toast. “I think I’m going to stop dating.”

“What? Why?”

 _So I can shag our flatmate_ , he thinks. “So I can get some sleep.” He smiles. “I need to be up really early and I don’t have time to hop around clubs just to get some.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“That’s why you get a boyfriend!” Gillian exclaims, swatting at his head. “You get in there, date the hell out of them to get them hooked and then you won’t have to pull strangers for a while.”

Harry smiles. “A while? How long a while?”

“Until they get tired of you working all the time and dumps you for someone with normal hours.” Gillian rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her tea. Harry takes a bite of his toast, chews slowly.

He doesn’t know much about Gellz dating history, Nick won’t give anything away other than she’s been single for a while and her last relationship didn’t end well. Harry’s never asked Gillian herself, still afraid to test their friendship in case he goes too far and wrecks something. He would be significantly lonelier if she wasn’t there to talk to. It’s probably the thing he’s missed most since starting on Dev’s show, the breakfasts with Gillian. It’s a gloomy Sunday but it feels like it could be a weekday, he getting ready to go job-hunting and she taking some time to enjoy her only stress-free meal of the day.

“Hey,” he says, nudges her ankle with his toes, “you okay?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “Just… think about the Dave thing, will you?”

“What Dave thing?” Nick asks, leaning against the doorframe. He looks relaxed and sleepy, eyes half-closed and focused on Gillian.

If Harry squints a little, he can almost make out the mark he left on Nick’s hip through the fabric of his thin-worn shirt. When he looks back up, Nick is studying him. He flushes slightly when Nick raises an eyebrow, but gives him a cheeky smile. Nick smiles back as he pulls out a chair and steals Harry’s toast.

“Heey.”

“Heeeey,” Nick and Gillian imitate simultaneously. Harry sticks out his tongue at both of them.

“I was asking Harry why he hadn’t been on more dates with Dave,” Gillian says, “you’ve met him, haven’t you, Grim?”

“Oh yeah,” Nick nods, smirking slightly, “I’ve had the pleasure.”

Harry knocks their knees together under the table, tries to give Nick his most serious eyebrow-look. Nick just hooks their ankles together.

Gillian sighs. “It’s too early for your eyebrows, Harry. I’m going back to bed.” She takes her cup with her, gives Nick a kiss on the head when she walks by and disappears into her room.

Harry butters another piece of bread, silently enjoying the feel of his bare ankle against Nick’s clothed one.

“You know that you can, like, go out with people. I mean,” Nick pauses, clears his throat. “It’s not like we are… You shouldn’t just ditch him if you still wanted to.”

If there is only one moment in Harry’s life when he can manage to sound casual, he desperately wants this to be it. “It’s okay,” he says, shrugging, “you’re easier.”

Nick looks down, brushes some invisible crumbs of the table. Harry can’t really tell, but he’s pretty sure Nick’s smiling.

“Are you calling me a slag?”

Harry nods. “Yep.” He scoots his chair closer to Nick’s, leans over so that his mouth is just below Nick’s ear. He leaves a kiss there and feels a shudder go through Nick. “Are you saying you’re not up for it?” He mumbles.

Nick twists around and puts a hand on Harry’s jaw, traces hit bottom lip with his thumb. “No. Pretty easy for you, I reckon.”

Harry smiles a little, enough to make his dimples pop. Nick pokes them relentlessly until they’re both giggling, Harry reaching up to catch Nick’s wrists.

“Finchy lent me the new Bond-film. Do you wanna watch it?” He traces his fingertips over the smooth skin on Nick’s palms.

“Have you hit your head? No way I’m watching that. Hate films, you know that.”

“We can make out every time he shoots someone.”

Nick pretends to contemplate it for about a nanosecond. “Okay.”

 

***

 

“What’s up with you?” Adam asks, after the third time Harry’s impulsively hugged him.

“Nothing. I’m just happy that you liked the coffee,” Harry says and waltzes out of the studio. He adds two pirouettes on the way to his desk, before emailing Daniel P. Carter that he really enjoyed his show earlier and to keep up the good work. He attaches two pictures of guitar-shaped cakes and sends it off.

Since they started doing more than just friendly things together, Nick’s been around the flat much more and they’ve not only shagged, but also gone back to how they were before, when Harry first moved in. They had a pretty impressive water fight last Wednesday that started in the kitchen and ended in the bedroom. Harry really can’t be blamed for that one, the water had made Nick’s shirt completely see-through, and the sight of his chest hair had seemed to turn Harry’s brain into a confused mess of _want_ , and _please_ , and _yes_. Before Gillian had gotten home, Harry had made two batches of cupcakes to soften the blow that they had to spend the night watching telly on the floor, since the couch still hadn’t dried up.

He’s humming softly to himself, whilst clipping up animal noises for a feature Dev wants to  try out. He’s just found an amazing dolphin one, when he feels someone leaning over his chair.

“Hard at work, are we?” Nick says.

Harry turns his head a little, so that Nick’s lips brush over his cheek. “Mhm. What are you doing here?”

“Was out, figured I might as well wait until you’re done to go home.”

He sits down in the chair next to Harry, swivels around a little before focusing on the computer screen. “Ooh, dolphins! They’re well smart, aren’t they? I heard they can talk in different languages and stuff.”

“Really?” Harry’s never heard of dolphins being bilingual.

Nick grins at him. “Nah.”

“Twat. I’m almost finished, just need to find a good monkey.”

“Don’t we all,” Nick says. “I’ll just pop in and say hi to Dev while you hunt.”

Harry turns up the volume so he can hear Nick arrive in the studio, banter flowing freely between him and Dev. He’s just done with the sound board when Nick gets back.

“Did you really see Dido do the robot or was that just for radio?” he asks, standing up.

“How very dare you, young Harold. I don’t lie to the people of Britain. She was well up for it, all dance-y and happy.” Nick pulls at Harry’s arm. “Come on, I’m dying for a burger.”

“It’s half six in the morning,” Harry whines, but follows willingly.

“Yep. Burger time!” Nick exclaims, waving cheerily to the security guard as they walk out the door.

London hasn’t quite woken up yet, the streets rather empty. Nick swings an arm around Harry’s shoulder and steers them down to road to the nearest McDonalds. Harry breathes in the chilly morning air and feels happier than he’s been in a long, long time.

 

***

 

Despite what many people think, Nick has a strong work ethic. He’ll show up hung over or still drunk from the night before, blurt out opinions about a figure in popular culture that he maybe should keep to himself but he doesn’t take his job for granted and he doesn’t share secrets on air. Ever.

That’s why he doesn’t understand Big Boss Ben’s decision to fire him. There can’t have been complaints about him saying things he shouldn’t, he’s been surprisingly sedate on the celeb gossip as of late. Turns out, having regular sex with a quite amazing partner makes you less interested in who other people might be sleeping with. He’s interrupted enough of Harry’s home yoga-sessions by now to know that every single one of those positions can be turned dirty, and he's grown quite obsessed with it. Harry likes to complain that he’s sore the next day, but Nick’s seen him stretch out on the bed, poking his bruises and smiling.

Right now, though, happy post-sex Harry is the last thing he should be thinking off. He’s late for a meeting with Ben, which doesn’t better his chances of talking his way out of unemployment. The traffic is hopeless, everything seems to be standing still and even though Nick’s cabbie seems to be in a zen-like mode, Nick’s pretty sure he’s pissed off somewhere underneath those sunglasses.

He gets to Radio 1 fifteen minutes after he’s supposed to have walked into Ben’s office and runs through security. He’s panting in the elevator, desperately trying to tame his hair to less of a newly-shagged quiff. He doesn’t succeed.

He knocks on the door and wait for Ben to call him in.

“Sorry I’m late, it was traffic all over the place, everyone going to the beach or summat, I don’t know. I did leave on time, I really did, but I should have taken the tube. Quite quick, those underground train thingies, aren’t they? Better than the old human feet, anyway.”

Ben is smiling at him from behind his desk. There is no one else in the room and Nick is still standing in the doorway.

“Do you want to sit down, maybe?” Ben asks.

Nick nods shakily, closes the door behind him and stalks up to the comfortable chair opposite Ben's desk. He wonders briefly if he should take of the leather jacket, but decides against it. If he’s about to get fired, at least he’ll look cool while getting thrown out. Also, he’s only got a t-shirt on underneath, and he needs the sleeves to wipe his eyes and nose if this all gets a bit embarrassing.

“So, you know that we have been working on a new schedule for the day-time shows,” Ben says, looking directly at Nick. His eyes are calm, but they still make Nick want to squirm a little. This is the man in charge of the entire station, after all.

“Yes. I’ve heard about that.”

Ben nods. “Now, we’ve already moved Greg to drive-time and Scott to the earlier slot. Fearne has taken the live lounge and Reggie will leave the chart show.”

“Wait, really?” Reggie’s been there as long as Nick can remember.

“Yes. This is not been made official yet, but we’ve agreed on it.”

“Who’s going to take over?” Nick’s heart is slightly racing. The chart show is never something he’s been after, it’s not the job he wants and if he gets it, the chances are slim to none of him ever making it to Breakfast. But. It’s a good show, a prime time slot with loads of opportunities. If he gets this-

“Jameela.”

Oh.

“Oh.” Nick looks down at his hands. Forces a smile. “She’ll be brilliant. Really good.”

He really does mean that. Him and Jameela go way back, and they’ve always been encouraging of each other’s careers. “I know she loves that show.”

“She does. Nearly cried her eyes out when I told her, used up every tissue in the building.”

“No left for me, then?” Nick says, trying but failing to sound jovial.

Ben looks a little confused. “Why would you need tissues?”

Nick shrugs a little, gives a look out the window. It’s a beautiful day. He would prefer a walk in the rain when this is all over, but maybe a stroll through a park where he can send glares at every happy couple, every laughing group of friends having a picnic would be good too.

“Nick,” Ben sighs, “you’re not getting fired.”

Nick’s eyes shoot back to him. “What?”

Ben laughs. “I don’t want to fire you. I want to promote you.”

Nick’s hands are shaking. He’s going over the possibilities in his head, every show on daytime has practically been rearranged already, all except for-

“How good are you at getting up in the mornings?”

“Rubbish,” Nick answers promptly.

Ben smiles at him. “Well, you might want to work on that.”

 

***

 

He walks straight from Ben’s office to the nearest bathroom and cries so much he uses up an entire loo roll before he can get a grip on himself. He sinks down to the floor and vows not to fuck this up.

He hides his eyes behind sunglasses and manages to get out of the building without having to do more than wave to people as he walks past.

He’s not allowed to tell anyone yet.

 

***

 

Nick is being weird and Harry doesn’t know why. He’s been quiet and skittish ever since he came back from his meeting and his laugh is way too loud when he reassures Harry that _‘there is nothing wrong, absolutely not, nope, I’m fine’_. He’s got traces of red in his eyes and he looks tired, drained. Harry tries hugging it out of him, but Nick flies up from the couch, quickly wiping his eyes before fetching them beers from the kitchen.

“None of this emotional stuff, Harold. We’re laddy lads, come on, put the football on.”

“There’s nothing on.” Harry says carefully, inching closer to Nick. Maybe someone’s said something about them, maybe they’ve seen them together and told Nick that Harry’s too young or something.

“Pff, there’s always a sporty thing going on somewhere. How else would they make all that money?” Nick says, snatching the remote from Harry and turning the TV on.

Harry tentatively rests his arm on the back of the couch. Nick is seemingly focused on the Cricket match Sky Sports is currently broadcasting, but his knee is restlessly jiggling up and down.

“Do you even know the rules?”

“Not about the rules, young Styles. It’s about the commitment.” Nick says primly.

Harry slowly slides his arm down from the couch and onto Nick’s shoulders. As soon as it settles, Nick slides away and stands up.

“Right. I don’t think I care for it that much, really. It’s just a bunch of batting around, isn’t it?” His eyes are flitting around the room, decidedly not focusing on Harry. “I think I’m going into work a bit early, got lots of office things to do. So… I’ll just go now.”

Nick’s show starts at ten. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon.

Harry sinks back into the couch and turns the volume up. Maybe he should learn how to play cricket.

 

***

 

“I’ve already invited Pix,” Gillian shouts from the kitchen.

Harry has just come through the door and is in the middle of unbuttoning his jacket when she sticks her head through the doorway.

“Oh, I thought you were Nick.”

“What gave me away?” Harry asks.

“Well, you’re much prettier,” she says, batting her eyelids.

“I know.” Harry says, putting one hand in his hair and the other on his hip, giving his best duck-face. When she laughs, he breaks the pose to kick off his shoes. “What was the thing with Pixie?”

“Nick’s dinner thing. He called me earlier and rambled on about how he wanted the usual people there and that it was extremely important no one else showed up. Don’t know what he’s on about.”

Harry frowns a bit and digs out his phone. He’s been spending the afternoon with Niall, browsing every instrument store they could find in search of a guitar cheap enough Niall could afford it on his shitty salary. He hasn’t even thought about checking his phone since he left the flat, which really is a compliment to Niall. That guy could probably distract Hades from all his death-business in order to go down to the pub for a pint.

There’s a missed call from Nick and a bunch of texts.

_You’re usually glued to the thing but the one time I call, you don’t bloody answer._

_Harryyyyyyyy_

_We’re having early dinner._

_I mean a bunch of people in our flat, so comb your hair._

_Also don’t cook anything, I’m buying food._

_And don’t you dare ignore me like this again._

Harry rolls his eyes and shows the conversation to Gillian. She snorts. “He’s such a loser.”

“What time is everyone coming over?”

“’Bout an hour.”

“Well,” Harry says flipping his hair, “I better go comb.”

Gillian thumps him on the head when he walks past, but she's smiling so he takes it as a compliment.

 

***

 

Alexa, Pixie and Gillian have already gone through two bottles of red when Harry’s showered and dressed. He wasn’t completely sure who was coming, so he picked his nicest flannel shirt and tightest jeans, the ones with almost no holes in.

Nick is nowhere to be seen, but the girls are happy enough to pull him down on the floor with them, pressing a glass in his hand.

“Grimmy’s got secrets,” Pixie whispers. “We’re not allowed to go in there.” She nods towards the kitchen.

“Him and Henry are having some sort of deep discussion in there,” Alexa says.

“Along with our Chinese,” Gillian continues.

Harry’s stomach drops. He clears his throat, looks to the kitchen for clues that there’s a make-up snogging session going on out there. He can’t hear anything, which is suspicious in itself since Nick is one of the loudest people of all time. “Henry’s here?” he asks tentatively.

“Yeah,” Gillian nods, “Have you met him yet?”

“Just... ehm, briefly. At a pub. Twice.”

Pixie snorts. “Always getting pissed, those two. Joined at the bloody hip, it’s ridiculous.”

There’s a ball of lead in Harry’s chest, punching against his ribcage. He downs the wine and holds his glass out for more.

“Way to go, Styles. Join the party!” Alexa holds her hand up for a high-five. Harry slaps their hands together and thinks if this turns to shit, he could always couch-surf among Nick’s lady friends. They seem to like him well enough and that would leave room for Henry to move back into his old room. He probably would like his curtains back as well, the ones Harry’s stuffed in the back of the closet. Who likes flamingos, anyway?

Half an hour later, his internal question is given an answer when Henry saunters into the living room, wearing a flamingo printed jacket. His trousers are green and glitters slightly. He looks effortlessly London-chic. Harry’s never felt more like a kid who’s trying to sit at the adults’ table, not even when he was a kid sitting at the adults’ table.

“Have you finished the wine already, you scamps?” Henry asks, settling down next to Pixie. She leans in and whispers something to him, but he just shakes his head.

Harry fights the urge to stand up and stamp his foot. He wants to know what’s going on, he doesn’t like the feeling of not being in charge of his own pseudo-relationship-but-mostly-friends-with-benefits-even-though-he’s-kind-of-smitten-and-also-very-very-very-possessive.

He needs to talk to Nick. If he’s getting chucked out, he wants to know it before the others do.

“Just gonna…” He gestures toward the kitchen and refuses to meet anyone’s eyes while making his way to the next room. 

 

He enters to find Nick carefully lighting candles with his tongue poking out. He looks up at the sound of the door closing and smiles.

“Hiya, Harold.”

“Hey.” Harry can’t help sounding a little sullen. Nick and Henry were in here for _so long_.

“What’s with the face?” Nick has gone back to the candles, finishing up pushing them down into take-out boxes.

“Nothing,” Harry says, leaning against the door in an attempt to look disaffected. He crosses and re-crosses his arms, not sure if they make a hostile impression or not. He’s also unsure whether he wants to look hostile, considering he might be dumped in the next five minutes. The worst part is that it would be a friends with benefits kind of dumped, meaning that there really isn’t much allowance for wallowing and sadness, which doesn’t seem fair. Friendships are just as important as romantic relationships, with or without added shagging. _It really is a poor social construct_ , Harry thinks, unconsciously nodding a little in agreement with his inner monologue.

He’s distracted from the woes of love and heartbreak when Nick starts humming. He’s got the flattest singing voice Harry knows, but he’s always so damn happy when he sings, Harry can’t help but encourage it as often as possible. The song choice of the day seems to be Gaga’s _Do What U Want_ , altered by Nick to be about Matt Fincham’s body.

Nick steps back and beams at Harry, throws out his arms to encompass all the boxes on the counters, now adorned with both candles and carefully arranged chop-sticks. “Ta-daa!”

Somewhere in the world, there is someone who could see Nick this happy and still scold him for being an idiot. That person does not exist in their kitchen.

“Ehm, Nick? Is there food in the containers?” Harry asks. He really doesn’t want to ruin Nick’s moment of triumph, but he also can’t let him poison the guests.

Nick huffs and crosses his arms. “Of course there is, why else would I put candles in them? It’s like when people put them small ones on birthday-cakes.”

“Except for that little thing they have on them to capture the wax. Like, before it reaches the cake.”

Nick’s eyes widen and he swirls around to the containers. “Oh, shit.” He starts frantically blowing out the candles, trying to put one out with his fingers but forgets to wet the fingertips first so he burns them and starts jumping around, swearing.

Harry’s sort of rooted in the spot until his brain processes the ridiculous situation enough to kick back into gear.

“Okay, just… come here,” he grabs Nick by the wrist and gets his hand under the tap, cold water calming the angry red on his fingertips. “Hold still.”

Harry blows out the last candles and inspects the boxes. In most of them, the stearin has made its way down to the food. He feels Nick crowd up behind him, peeking over his shoulder. “Fuck.”

Harry nods. “Mhm. This should teach you.”

Nick snorts. “Sound like my bloody mother. We’ll just give the one with most gunk on to Henry. He’d like that.”

Harry can feel the iron-ball returning. He focuses on getting the candles away from the food, picks them out one by one. “Pixie said you two had secrets out here.”

Nick winds his arms around Harry’s belly, blows a wet raspberry into his neck. Harry giggles involuntarily, squirming a little.

Nick rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder. “Nah. Were just catching up.”

“Okay.”

Nick reaches for a chop-stick, pokes the noodles around a little. “You can’t really see it, can you?”

“Maybe if you hadn’t used red candles.”

“Heey, they were the only ones we had.” Nick puts the chop-stick down again, turns Harry around.

“I have a few scented ones. They’re nice,” Harry says, sneaking his hands up Nick’s back.

“Is that a pick up line?” Nick grins, leaning closer. “Would you like me to scent your candle?”

“If I can butter your muffin,” Harry says, wriggling his eyebrows.

“Don’t have one, do I?”

Harry frowns a bit, looks around for inspiration. “Oh! I’ve got it.”

Nick smiles, tucks a curl of Harry’s hair behind his ear. “Go on then.”

“Don’t let my accent fool you, ‘cause I’m fully capable of handling your chopstick.”

Nick groans.  Harry pokes his side a bit. “D’you get it? Cause, like, I’m English and the food is from China. That’s a joke that works on _two_ continents!” He feels extraordinarily pleased with himself. _Suck it_ , he tells the iron-ball that is now only the size of a peanut.

“I get it, you’re very clever,” Nick says, loosening his grip. “Come on, let’s feed the beasts.”

“Hang on,” Harry mumbles, pulling Nick’s face down towards his. He kisses him hard, plying Nick’s lips apart with his tongue. A small moan makes its way from Nick’s throat and Harry swallows it down eagerly. He pushes himself up against Nick, not caring if he seems desperate. Break-up or no break-up, Henry’s still in the flat and Harry wants to do everything he can to have Nick focused solely on this moment, on _him_. He reaches down to give Nick’s ass a good squeeze, just to make sure.

When they break apart, Nick looks slightly disoriented, licking his lips while staring at Harry’s. Harry gives himself a mental pat on the back and then an actual one, because he’s alive and felt like it, so why the hell not. This is his moment of kissing-triumph.

“Okay. We can go now.”

Nick nods before darting in for another kiss, this one softer. “Okay.”

 

***

 

Nick’s pretty sure that everyone’s been noticing something weird with their food, but the inside joke with Harry is too good to give up. They’re seated next to each other, feet busy under the table.

Then Alexa lifts up a huge clump of wax-covered chicken. “Ehm…”

“I should order from that place more often.” Nick says, struggling to keep a straight face, made harder when Harry breaks down and starts giggling into Nick’s shoulder. Nick reaches up to pet his hair.

“What the hell is that?” Pixie wonders, poking on Alexa’s food. “It looks gross.”

“No, it’s great, it’ll melt right in your mouth,” Harry presses out in between laughing fits.

Alexa drops the food with a disgusted face, Henry and Pixie pushing their boxes away as well. Gillian pokes around in hers for a bit before giving up.

“Anyway,” Henry says, watching Harry pick out non-wax filled pieces of shrimp from his container, “what’s the big news?”

“I had a meeting yesterday with Big Boss Ben and-“

“Did you get fired?”

“Did he yell at you?”

“Are you getting drive-time?”

“Ben is the fit one, right?”

“ _Did_ he fire you?”

“He gave me Breakfast,” Nick says.

“Well, it’s the least he could do after dragging you there that early,” Pixie says, going back to her wine.

Gillian is more attentive though, probably noticing the way Nick can’t keep still. “Grim. Did he… Is it… Do you mean the Breakfast Show? You got the Breakfast show?”

Nick nods and she shoots out of her chair, throws her arms around him. Confusion breaks out around them, but Nick is content with it being just him and Gellz for a while, the loser kids who’ve worked their way up through the career ladder, always doubting themselves but fiercely believing in each other.

Henry’s next, crowding up behind Nick and shouting in his ear, something about Nick being a bastard for not telling them the moment they walked in and how the hell did he snatch the dream job when he’s still young enough to have all his hair left.

Pixie and Alexa are next, Pix jumping onto his lap and squeezing the life out of him while Alexa ruffles his hair and kisses his cheek.  He feels Harry giving him a clap on the shoulder and a ' _well done, mate'_ but that’s as far as his congratulations go.

The girls return to their seats, gossiping about what Chris Moyles might have said when he was told and which bands will try and make better friends with Nick to get played on Breakfast. Nick is sitting back and enjoying the relief from getting rid of the secret when he feels a hand land on his thigh. Harry’s back is ramrod straight and his eyes focused on the discussion in front of him but his hand is creeping higher and higher up Nick’s leg.

Harry’s got a blush slowly building from his neck, stark against his pale skin. Nick wants to lick it. He suddenly feels the urgent need to be alone in a room with Harry, no clothes allowed. It seems Harry was thinking the same thing since he gives Nick’s inner thigh one last grope before exaggerating a yawn and excusing himself from the table.

It’s almost seven pm and Nick has to go into work in about an hour. Plenty of time to work with, if he can only clear the living room of people.

Or he could just disappear himself.

 

He stands up abruptly, doing his best to cover his semi with his take-out box. “Have to pop to the loo, be right back,” he manages before stalking off down the corridor.

He sneaks into Harry’s room and locks the door behind him. He loves his friends, but they have already seen far too much of him in situations like this and also, this is Harry, a guy Gillian made Nick promise not to touch.

It’s safe to say he’s fucked that up. It’s also safe to say he doesn’t care one bit. Not when Harry is already down to his pants, palming himself on the bed. Nick pulls his shirt off on his way over to Harry, throws it aside.

He leans down over Harry to tug lightly on his hair. Harry moans, leans into the touch. “Such a slag, aren’t you?”

Harry grins. “Come here and I’ll show ya.”

Nick straddles him on the bed, but holds himself up so that they’re bodies don’t touch. “What brought this on, then?”

Harry reaches up to pull Nick closer but he captures his wrists and pins them above Harry’s head. Harry whines. “Just wanted to say congratulations.”

“Alright.” Nick releases his hands. “Go on then.”

Harry waits a beat, but when it’s clear to him that Nick won’t make the first move he surges up, pushes their mouths together. “Idiot,” he mumbles. He rolls them so that Nick is on his back and Harry between his legs.

“I thought you were mad at me,” Harry says while working on Nick’s belt.

“What? Oh, the couch-thing?” Harry nods up at him before finally getting Nick’s trousers down enough to get a hand around his dick. “I was- fuck, do that again, was trying not to say anything.”

Harry jerks him steadily, looking at Nick like they’re in the middle of a serious conversation. Maybe they are, but Nick isn’t sure he can keep his head clear long enough to finish it. “Why were you all sad then?”

“Dreamjob, innit?” Nick tries to fuck up into Harry’s hand, but he’s pushed back, one hand holding down his hip. “Went all weepy in the office.”

“You should have told me,” Harry frowns, letting go of Nick’s dick to crawl up and give him a hug.

“Um.” It’s not that Nick is averse to hugging but it makes a poor substitute for an ongoing hand-job.

“Stop thinking about your dick,” Harry mutters, “I’ll get you off when I’m done cuddling.”

Harry’s arms are snug around him and his hair smells of lavender, so it’s no hardship for Nick to sink into it. It’s already become a familiar weight on top of him, Harry’s body, the long lines of it fitting nicely against Nick’s own. “Fine,” he sighs, twisting his neck to kiss Harry’s cheek.

They lie silently; listening to the sounds of conversation trickle in from the living room. Alexa’s laugh travels easily through walls, making both of them smile.

Harry turns his head up to lock eyes with Nick. “You’re gonna do great.”

“I’ll probably pop in and do the handover with Dev, see your ugly mug every morning.”

Harry bites down on Nick’s chest, making him yelp. “Hey!”

“You love it,” Harry says, smiling smugly. “You think I have the best face of all the faces.”

“Lies, its average at best,” Nick says primly, “Are you done with the hugging now? I have work.”

“I’m coming in with you.”

“Yeah?” Harry hasn’t come in to annoy him and Finchy in the studio for a long time. It’s understandable, given how Harry’s work shift starts three hours after Nick’s finished, but he still misses it.

“Yeah.”

Nick wriggles a little underneath Harry. “So, are you gonna…”

Harry snorts. “Animal.”

“You were the one who bit me earlier!”

Harry shrugs, but he does sneak a hand down to grasp Nick’s cock again so, all in all, Nick feels like he won the argument.

 

***

 

“That was one hell of a bathroom break,” Alexa says when Nick returns to the table.

“Well,” Nick shrugs.

“Ugh, gross,” Pixie says, lobbing a chop-stick at his head.

“Henry says you’ve been sleeping with Harry.” Alexa says, grinning over her wine glass. “What is he, seventeen?”

“He’s twenty! I mean… ehm… no?” Nick thinks his best defence is to deny everything, until he looks up and sees Henry’s guilty face. “Fuck.”

“I didn’t know that they didn’t know!” Henry exclaims.

Nick tries to think out a new strategy, but doesn’t have time before Alexa’s next question comes.

“How long have you been shagging young Harry then?”

“Just… a while. Not that long.”

“And you didn’t tell us. You slag.” While Alexa and Pixie smirk at him, Gillian just presses her lips together and looks down at the table.

The two of them have always shared everything, even before they started living together, so Nick can sort of understand her being upset. This isn’t entirely his fault though.

“Well, Gellz forbade me to go near him, so we couldn’t tell anyone about our torrid affair because she’d go all yell-y. Be awful, wouldn’t it. It’s all her fault, really.”

Pixie gasps dramatically. “Gillian! How dare you come between young love?”

“It’s a disgrace, really,” Henry says, taking a delicate sip of his wine.

“That’s strong coming from you, ex-boyfriend,” Pixie smirks.

Nick drops his head in his hands. “You told them about that too?”

“Maybe?”

Nick groans, rubs his eyes. This is exactly the reason you shouldn’t make things up when you have friends who are notorious gossips. “Just, don’t tell him. Okay?”

“Why did you even make it up in the first place?” Alexa asks, “The two of you being together is ridiculous, why would he even buy it?”

“I don’t know,” Nick whines, “he saw us at the pub twice and we were holding hands and then we had that tiff and…. You know.”

“Aw, he pity-shagged you!” Pixie croons.

“No, it wasn’t…” The sound of Harry’s door opening stops Nick in his tracks. “Please don’t say anything.”

He gets nods and thumbs up in return. Gillian is still not looking at him, tracing the rim of her glass with a fingertip.

It’s fine, he’ll talk to her when they get back.

“You ready?” Harry asks, hair wet from the shower and torso hidden under a hideous sweater Nick recognizes as his own.

“Yep.” He turns back to the table. There are too many suggestive eyebrows for him to process, so he simply rolls his eyes and stands up. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Have fun,” Pixie sing-songs.

Nick plants a kiss on her cheek and follows Harry out. At least now he has someone to text when Harry does weird things, like that thing with his tongue or the excessive tooth brushing, or when his smile goes all wonky. Just as he’s thinking it, Harry looks over at Nick with that exact smile on his face.

On second thought, Nick might keep that one to himself.  

 

***

 

Finchy grumbles a bit when he comes into the studio only to discover that all the chairs have been shoved into a corner to make room for the epic lip-sync battle Nick is currently winning. (Really, Harry should have known better than to challenge him on an Oasis-track. Nick has memorized the air-guitar movements to those since he was fourteen years old.) Nick is fairly convinced it’s all bark and no bite when Finchy starts waxing on about how the best lip-sync song of all time is  _Live and let die_.

“Oh, alright Paul McCartney,” Nick says, counting the seconds of self-restraint playing out on Matt’s face before he inevitably cracks.

It doesn't take long. “It’s not _Paul McCartney_ , Nicholas, it’s _Wings_. They were actually better than they got credit for and that track is brilliant,” Matt huffs, crossing his arms. “I understand why you wouldn’t think so considering you’ve never even seen a Bond-film.”

With an innocent smile, Harry chimes in, “We watched one the other day, actually.”

“Really?” Matt says, disbelieving. “And what did you think?”

“Oh, he enjoyed it,” Harry says smugly before Nick can answer. “Didn’t you, my dear?” He manages to make the grandma-esque endearment sound like something you’d call the bloke who just finished you off in the back room of a dingy club. It really is quite a feat, Nick’s rather proud.

Matt’s eyes flit between them before he holds up his hands. “I don’t even want to know.”

Harry drops down on the couch in the back of the studio with 30 seconds left before the next link. Nick proceeds to only mess up three times on air during the rest of the show, one of them because Harry walked into the wall and made a strange pig-noise, which is better than he usually does.

 

Harry decides to stay at the beeb for the three hours before Dev’s show starts. Pete Tong promises to take good care of him so, after a quick grope in the nearest nook, Nick is off.

 

***

 

When Nick comes home, the others have left and the air smells slightly of candles and gone-off chicken. Nick smiles a little, wanders into the living room.

Gellz is in her outerwear, coat flapping behind her and heels clicking as she moves quickly through the flat.

He leans against the couch and bats his eyelashes at her. “What’s up Gellz?”

“Fuck you, Nick,” Gillian spits.

Nick halters. “What?”

Gillian is hastily getting her work-things together, throws them down in her handbag.

“Gillian!” Nick reaches for her arm, but she shoves his hand away. “Oh, come on.”

She stops and takes a deep breath. “Fuck. You.” She’s looking him straight in the eye and Nick is only now starting to understand that this is not a joke.

“You always do this, you _always_ blame your emotional shit on someone else. I said ‘don’t sleep with him just to dump him the next day’ and you go round telling people it’s my fault that your relationship with Harry has to be secret because otherwise _I’ll yell at you_.”

“You are yelling at me,” Nick tries, but immediately regrets it. Instead of cracking up, or punching him in the shoulder as a sign of forgiveness, she spins around and locks eyes with him.

“This is on you. Okay? _You_ lied to Harry about being dumped by Henry, _you_ tricked him into sleeping with you which, by the way, is so fucking gross I can’t even begin to deal with, and now you can’t handle having feelings for him so you blame it all on _me_. You are being immature and _mean_ and for once, just this once, I would like you to own up to it.” Her voice is calm and collected, her business face carefully put on.

He would have preferred it if she would have continued to yell.

“It’s just… it’s nothing, we’re just shagging.” Nick can’t think, can’t take in the fact that this is something that’s happening. That Gillian is actually upset with him, wants to get away from him.

He doesn’t know how to defend himself except for taking to humour. “I was gonna go back to the models soon enough anyway. No harm done, right?”

He smiles tentatively at her but she just turns around and heads toward the hall. She’s almost at the door when Nick’s brain kicks into gear. He goes after her with long steps, catches her when her hand is at the door handle.

“Gellz.”

“You’re a fucking idiot. He’s gonna find out and he’s gonna hate you.”

She wrenches the door open and disappears down the corridor.

 

***

 

The first time Nick can remember fighting about something that wasn’t the channel on the TV or favourite pizza toppings, he’s twelve years old. It’s not even his fight; it’s his parents’, but it’s about him and the sound of them shouting at each other in the kitchen makes Nick run to his bedroom and turn off all the lights. He finds the noisiest record he owns and puts it on much too loud for their quiet street. The music drowns out his parents’ voices but the tight feeling in his chest remains. He lies down on the bed and shuts his eyes tightly, singing along to the songs inside his head. When the record comes to a close, the house is quiet. Nick pulls the blanket over his head and goes to sleep.

Since then, Nick’s learned to avoid any situation that could make the uncomfortable pressure on his chest come back. Sure, he fights with Henry and Alexa and – to some extent – Harry, but it’s only nonsensical squabbles about the last milk or the best club or (in Harry’s case) anything that could lead to making up by making out.

He’s not good with emotions, but he’s good with showing love through touches and hugs and newly bought biscuits. He’s made an art out of saying nothing and saying everything between the lines. He’s learned to gravitate towards people who do the same.

The last time Nick can remember fighting about something big was when he and Jonny broke it off. It wasn’t that Nick hadn’t understood why it didn’t work, it was that he couldn’t understand why J hadn’t _wanted_ it to work. It was never he who got on a plane to Paris or London just to get a bit of time together, it was Nick who had packed up his bags and flown to New York or joined the tour for a week, just to be able to spend a couple of nights sleeping next to each other. The fight had ended with Nick asking why Jonny hadn’t made more of an effort, and Jonny replying ' _Because I really don’t care that much, okay? It’s just a fucking fling_.'

It hadn’t been ‘just’ anything for Nick.

It’s been nearly two years and ever since, Nick’s made sure that he’s the one doing the rejecting. The kicking out of bed. The non-committal one night stands.  Nothing that could make him actually feel something, serious emotions kept safely invested in his friends and family.

He and Gillian have known each other for five years, lived together for three. Nick has never thought she’d be the next person that would make him feel this small, and when he carefully closes the bedroom door behind him and crawls into bed fully clothed, there’s a voice in his head whispering just how much he must have fucked up in order for Gillian to finally snap.

He texts everyone he can think of, over and over again, until Aimee finally replies to say that Gellz is staying the night at hers and that he shouldn’t call. From her texts it seems like Aimee doesn’t know what the fight was about, which makes Nick’s chest go just as tight as it did when he was a boy, because that means that despite everything, Gillian is still protecting him.

He doesn’t sleep but he watches the small stream of moonlight on the wall until his eyes hurt.

 

***

 

Niall has left twelve voicemails and ten texts during the time of Harry’s afternoon nap, so naturally there’s a bit of panic when he wakes up.

He dials instantly, not even bothering to check any of the messages.

“What’s wrong?”

“Harry! I never see you anymore!” Niall responds cheerily, “Meet me at that place with the thing in ten, I want a hug.”

Harry groans into the pillow, his heart gradually slowing down. “Fine.”

Niall whoops before disconnecting. Harry smiles. He really could do with a Niall-cuddle.

 

 

“So, you’re properly shacked up now?” Niall asks from under Harry’s arm. They’re on a bench outside the pastry shop around the corner from Harry’s flat. They’ve never actually been inside, but the smell of it is exactly the same as the bakery where Harry used to work. It started out as a comfort to home-sickness, but since him and Niall started coming more frequently; it became Harry’s favourite happy place.

It’s so deeply rooted in them now to not enter the shop that the thought never even enters their mind. It could ruin the whole illusion as well, if the pastries aren’t as good as the ones Harry remembers.

“Don’t know. Haven’t really discussed it.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you two talk all that much,” Niall grins.

Harry shrugs. “We use our mouths pretty often.”

Instead of making a face, Niall gives him a pat on the belly and snuggles in closer. “Good for you mate. You pined long enough.”

“I guess. How’s the guitar?”

“Wicked! I played at this shitty café the other day. Got ten quid and five cookies,” Niall says proudly.

Harry gives him a little squeeze. “Who gave you the cookies?”

“The fit girl behind the counter. Told her I was starving and I was either gonna eat her or all the cakes.” Niall wiggles his eyebrows. “So I did both.”

Harry can’t help his loud bark of laughter, but he still feels guilty for the flock of birds fleeing from a tree nearby. “Did that line actually work?”

“Nah,” Niall says. “You gotta show some personality too, mate. We started talking about music and stuff.” Niall shrugs. “She was cool.”

That’s the thing he likes about Niall, he’s genuinely interested in people and their lives. He may sleep with different girls as often as he pleases, and he may never call them again, but he always makes sure they know that going in. In the time Harry’s known him, he’s witnessed Niall have reunions with a bunch of different people he’s hooked up with, and they have all seemed nothing but happy to catch up.

It also makes Harry ashamed for some of the girls he slept with back when he still hadn’t figured out whether or not the whole liking-people-with-scruffy-beards-and-male-genitalia thing was a phase or not. He’s tried talking about it with Nick, but he hasn’t gotten anywhere with it. The only thing that came out of it was Nick mumbling something about the importance not to back down even if some kids might tease you on the playground cause your brother called you gay boy in front of them by accident. Harry had stopped asking after that, had leaned over to kiss Nick’s cheek and link their fingers. Nick brushed it off with a crude joke, but his accent had gone thicker, the way it did when he was embarrassed or nervous about something, and he didn’t let go of Harry’s hand.

“Nick doesn’t really wanna tell anyone.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “Guess he’s still upset about the Henry-thing. I… I don’t really like it. I mean, it’s not like we have to tell _him_. Be nice if like, Gellz knew, or summat.”

“You should probably say that to him, mate.” Niall looks too serious for Harry’s liking. He doesn’t want to be the one to get him down, it’d be like that episode of _Friends_ with Chandler and the happy dog.

“If you were a dog, what breed would you be?” He asks.

Niall doesn’t seem fazed by the subject change, simply changes position so he’s legs are in Harry’s lap. “Probably a collie. Got nice ears and all.” He looks over at Harry. “You’d probably be a sausage dog.”  

“Really? I like them. Nick’s friend Aimee’s got one. Maybe that’s me, in like an alternative universe. Wouldn’t it be cool if I was a dog and a human at the same time?” Niall nods enthusiastically. “Do you wanna grab some food?” Harry asks.

“Sure,” Niall says easily. “I want shrimp.”

They stay on the bench for a while longer, soaking up the sun, until Niall falls asleep on Harry’s shoulder. Harry wakes him up and drags him off to the nearest pizza place.

 

***

 

Matt Fincham is going to be the producer of the Radio 1 Breakfast show when Nick takes over. Matt knows this and Nick knows this but Matt doesn’t know that Nick knows. Naturally, this has led to Nick loudly expressing his deepest, dearest wish that producer Cara will be the one who gets the job. At least once every night when him and Matt do the show, Nick will shush him to send ‘an important email to Ben’ or to ‘check in with Cara, see if she’s heard anything’.

He’s roped Cara into it already, giggling in the canteen over the way Matt seems to get more and more frazzled every time they bring it up. It’s not that Nick enjoys torturing Finchy (come to think of it, that’s probably a lie) but he feels it’s strictly necessary in this case. Matt is getting the most high-profile producing job in radio, after all. A little hazing is obviously needed.

“It’s just that we work so well together, you know?” Nick whines, trailing after Matt. They’re on their way to a meeting with Big Boss Andy, and since this will be the last time he gets to tease Finchy before the truth comes out, he lays it on thick. “If it wasn’t for Annie, I’d definitely say that Cara is my radio wife. Can’t imagine who else could do the job.”

“Right,” Matt replies. His back is tense and his voice clipped. Nick starts skipping down the corridor, holds up the door for Finchy. He gets a glare and returns it with a beaming smile.

“Come in,” Andy says, gesturing to the couch. “Sit down.”

Finchy takes a seat, hands folded in his lap. Nick plops down as close as possible, throws an arm around Matt’s shoulders.

Andy looks at them with a slight smirk. Nick holds no illusion that he doesn’t know exactly what’s been going on. Andy has spies everywhere, Nick’s sure.

“You started to sort out your holiday plans, Grimmy?”

“Yep. Aimee and I are off to Ibiza. Gonna be very healthy, stay on the quiet side and relax. We’re gonna rent bikes and everything. Proper grown-up stuff,” Nick beams. He is rather proud of how they’ve managed to actually plan things to do, as opposed to just hope for an open bar and make the best of it.

“Good luck,” Matt mutters. He’s a much better employee than Nick, so he won’t openly mock a colleague in front of the bosses. Not at full volume, at least. Nick has managed to corrupt him a little.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. You need some rest before the show starts,” Andy says. “Alright, onto the serious stuff. You know why I called you in today, right?”

“To give us some extra cash?” Nick grins.

Matt elbows him in the ribs, but Nick only tugs him closer. He will squeeze as much love and affection into Finchy’s body as he possibly can right now, so that there is less of a chance of Matt killing him later. There really has been an awful lot of Cara-baiting.

“We should talk about your new team.”

“Sure.”

“I had a meeting with Ian yesterday, and he is going to come aboard as one of the assistant producers. That okay with everyone?”

“That’s fine, I’m sure he’ll do good.” Matt says, still a little tense.

Nick nods enthusiastically. “I love him, gives the best massages doesn’t he. That’ll be good in the morning.”

From the look Matt gives him, it seems he’s the only one who’s gotten massaged by Ian on the regular. Weird.

(He did enjoy telling Harry about them, got him in a proper strop. It did lead to naked backrubs though, which seemed to calm him right down. The possessiveness made Nick’s chest feel a little lighter than it had since his fight with Gillian, because it meant that Harry wanted at least _something_ more than just sex. The feeling is a hundred percent mutual, but Nick hasn’t told Harry that yet.)

“Good,” Andy says, breaking Nick out of his thoughts. “And Matt will be your producer of course, but you already knew that.”

“Of _course_ I did, wouldn’t move to big, scary daytime without Finchy, would I? Be mental to even try,” Nick smiles.

“What?” Matt is frowning hard enough to unite his brows completely. Nick smiles bigger. “You knew about that?”

“Yup,” Nick says, making sure to obnoxiously pat Finchy on the head. “Didn’t really think I was going to take Cara, did you?”

Matt glares at him but softens eventually. He still crosses his arms and pouts, though. “Suppose not.”

Andy’s looking between them, lips quirked. “Glad that’s sorted. So, onto the final thing. You need a second assistant producer, and I thought we should make that decision together.”

“I’m not really bothered,” Nick says. “I like everyone and everyone likes me. I’m amazing.”

Matt sighs. “We know, Nicholas. That’s kind of the problem though.”

“Why?” Nick squeaks.

“Because Ian is really nice, so he won’t put up much of a fight if you want to go off the rails. If you pick someone, you’ll pick another one you can rope into whatever stupidity you want to do. We need someone who won’t back down.”

Andy nods. Nick can kind of see Matt’s point, but he still withdraws his arm. It’s a principle thing. ”I don’t do stupid things.”

“That time you broke your foot on a rickshaw?”

“Okay, I do _drunk_ stupid things, but all my work ideas are brilliant.”

“Letting a teenager do the opening link of the show?”

“That was a great idea,” Nick sniffs, “voice of our target audience, he is. And he’s not a teenager.”

Matt seems to be gearing up for yet another argument of the you-do-stupid-shit-all-the-time variety, but Andy beats him to the punch.

“If I can interrupt for just a second,” he says, “did you have someone in mind, Matt?”

Matt sits silently for a minute. “I’d like to have Fiona Hanlon on the team,” he says eventually. “She’s worked breakfast before so the schedule won’t be a problem, and we already know each other.”

“I don’t know her,” Nick points out.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Andy asks.

“Nah. I’ll get to know her quickly enough when we stumble around looking for coffee at five thirty in the morning. Maybe we should start doing that now, as a team building thing. What do you think, Finchy? Fancy coming in for a cuppa at arse o’clock?”

“Can we just make a decision on this first? Are you okay with Fiona, Nick?” Matt asks, using his serious voice.

“Yeah. If you like her, I like her.” It’s true. They’ve had their spats, him and Matt, but he trusts him to make good decisions for whatever show they’re working on.

“Well, uhm. Okay then,” Matt says, decidedly not meeting Nick’s eyes.

Nick puts his arm back around Finchy’s shoulders. They seem to be having a moment, and those are always best with a little bit of cuddling.

 

***

 

It’s only when they walk out of Andy’s office that Nick realises that he’s just lost one of the few things that’s been able to distract him since the fight. He feels uneasy in the flat, too unsure of what would happen if he were to try talking to Gillian to build up the guts and actually do it. He’s distanced himself from Harry too, at least physically, since he doesn’t want the slightest chance of Gellz walking in and seeing them kiss or hold hands or even sit too close on the couch. He’s gotten some confused looks from Harry, but he’s tried to make up for it whenever they’ve been behind closed doors. That, at least, is something he can fix.

He waves goodbye to Finchy and walks out into the rainy streets. His chest gives a little lurch at the thought of going home. He grabs a cab anyway.

 

 

***

 

(Weeks later, Matt gets his revenge on the whole Cara thing when Jared Leto comes in for an interview and suddenly, every computer in the studio has a semi-nude picture of Nick as both screensaver and desktop background. Nick refuses to acknowledge the blush that starts on his forehead and ends somewhere near his ankles. Leto just smirks and continues to call him ‘baby’ throughout their chat, which doesn’t really help the situation.)

 

 

***

 

It’s a little awkward with Dave potentially working the front desk, but Harry has Made A Decision and he won’t let pesky things, like encounters with people who may or may not have expected a call at one point and only received apologetic text messages instead, stop him. It’s not like Harry dumped him, they only went on a couple of dates, but it’s still bad behaviour not to call up and explain the situation.

Nevertheless, he needs to talk to Gellz where there is no possibility of Nick overhearing, and catching her at the office seems to be his best bet. She’s hardly been home since the dinner when Nick told them about the show and when she has, Nick’s been looking guilty and Gillian reserved. Harry intends to get to the bottom of it.

He’s not proud of the way he shields his face with his favourite hat and how he chose grey skinnies instead of black. (Actually, that one he’s kinda proud of, because he’s worn black ones every time him and Dave went out, so the grey will completely throw him off the scent)

He makes it into the elevators without a hitch. Phase one; completed.

 

 

Situated on Gillian’s office floor with a tin of homemade cookies between them, Harry tries to needle some answers out of her. Despite the chocolate chip goodness, it’s not going that well.

“Can’t you tell me just a little bit?”

Gillian snorts. “No, for the hundredth time, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry sighs but decides to change strategy. The important thing is not that he finds out everything, but rather that he finds a way to get the two of them talking again. Taco Thursday has been awkward for two weeks in a row, and Harry doesn’t like it. When he’s fixed it enough for them to start speaking to each other again, _then_ he can move on to the next step and dig up every last detail about the fight. He offers Gillian another cookie before making his move.

“There’s no way Nick will be the one to take the first step, so maybe you should try and talk to him.”

Gillian scoffs. “I’m not the one who messed up. He can apologize to me if he wants to move past this.”

Harry fiddles a little with his shirt. “He’s not going to do that.”

“I know.” She stretches her legs out in front of her, breathes in deeply. “He’d much rather just forget about it, or make it into some kind of gag. That’s what he always does.”

“I think…” Harry starts, unsure of how far he should push this. In the end, it’s the thought of Nick walking around like someone’s destroyed the complete works of Eminem and Dr Dre for one more day that’s awful enough to keep him going. There’s only so much puppy-eyed sadness he can take. “I think he’s afraid you’ll laugh at him. So, like, he makes sure he’s the one making the joke, cause he’s not very good at talking.”

“He’s excellent at talking,” Gillian replies.

“You know what I mean. He gets all weird about it. He’s been no fun, just moping around when he thinks you can’t see him.” Harry’s not trying to place blame, he’s really not, but from their reactions it does seem like Gillian is at least a little in the wrong.

“I’ve seen him, he’s not exactly subtle,” Gillian sighs. “You don’t know what happened though, so you can’t just…”

“I’m not trying to,” Harry says carefully.

Gillian studies him for a beat, before looking down at her hands, nodding slightly. “This is not really… I don’t know if I should say this, but if I were you I would like to know. So, you can be mad at me for telling you, but please remember that I’m not doing it to upset you. Okay?”

Harry doesn’t really know how to read her expression; it’s too guarded to reveal which direction this is going in. He decides to trust the fact that he trusts her. “Okay.”

Gillian takes a deep breath. “Right. So, the reason I was so angry with Nick was because he’s lied to, well… you. And when he tried to blame it on me, I got mad and he wouldn’t back down or take it seriously. So I sort of yelled at him and stormed out.”

There’s a part of Harry that’s whispering gleefully that this is what happens when he’s not careful. That while he’s been having the time of his life with this nice, cool, witty person, thinking they were starting to build something, Nick’s had no intention of eventually committing. That Harry’s been the only one who’s thought their hook-ups were exclusive, and that everyone’s known it but him.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

There’s another part of him though, that refuses to believe it. One of the things Harry’s never doubted is the fact that Nick is a good person. He’s fiercely loyal to all his friends, he loves his family, he’s good at his job because he’s warm and kind to everyone, and he _doesn’t lie_. He just doesn’t.

“I think,” Harry starts, clears his throat. “I think maybe you’ve misunderstood something. Cause like, we talk about stuff. Me and Nick, we do, so maybe you just thought I didn’t know summat that really, I did.”

Gillian’s mouth is tilted down, a mixture of guilt and pity painted across her features. For a fraction of a second, Harry hates her. Hates her for trying to pull him out of the happiness he’s felt for the first time in a long while. He’s never been so relaxed with someone he’s fancied before, never been close friends with someone he’s been sleeping with, and now Gillian wants to destroy it.

“No, Harry. I know that you don’t know this. Henry told me, us, at the dinner that you and Nick have been sleeping together.”

“Yeah, so? He’s probably just jealous. What, did he tell you that Nick tricked me into it or something? Cause it was my idea in the first place, and it was _because_ of Henry. He dumped Nick and now he’s just bitter that he can’t have him anymore.”

“Haz-” Gillian holds up her hands to try and stop him, but Harry has to get this out. She needs to hear this, _someone_ has to hear this because it’s been weeks now and he hasn’t been allowed to claim anything for his own and he’s sick of it.

“Because _I’m_ with Nick now. Me. We are together, and Henry can’t have him. Okay? He just can’t. I’m not going to move out and I’m not going to back down and I know that you think I’m too young or whatever but I don’t care because _I want him_. He’s _mine_.” Harry’s voice cracks on the last word, but he doesn’t look away. She needs to understand this, that it’s something good and honest and _real_.

Gillian has stilled, looking wide-eyed at him, before drawing Harry into a fierce hug. “I know. I know, love.” She rocks them slightly, holds him steadily against her.

Something inside Harry breaks, and he feels tears starting to build up. He burrows into Gillian’s shoulder, hides his face. “He doesn’t want to tell anyone. I can’t even kiss him at work, or in the lounge, or _anywhere_ where someone could catch us. I know it’s not about me, it’s his fucking thing with Henry that he’s still not over but it _sucks_. I want him to be happy, and I just… I just don’t know if he is.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Gillian mumbles. Harry shakes his head, but she pulls him away from her before he can say anything, holds his face gently between both her hands. “No, Harry, listen to me. I need you to listen to everything I’m going to say, okay?”

Harry sniffles, tries to pull himself together enough to get his thoughts straight, and nods.

“Henry has never dated Nick,” she says, looking him straight in the eye. Harry frowns, opens his mouth to protest, but she shushes him. “They’ve never dated, they’ve never even slept together and they’ve _definitely_ never broken up. I don’t know how that whole thing got started, but I’m guessing it had to do with Nick panicking about something stupid and making up the lie to save face. I do know that when they had that fight at the pub, it was about you.”

Harry can’t do anything but stare at her. There is no dishonesty in her voice; this is her laying everything bare, including him. He gets an irrational impulse to cover himself up with something, just to get away from the rest of her words. He can’t stop listening though.

“I think Henry said something about Nick really liking you and Nick couldn’t take it so he left. This is what he does. He can’t handle being in a proper relationship, so he fucks it up before it can ever grow into something real. You were right before.” She says, stroking his hair back from where it’s fallen across his forehead. “He is scared that someone will laugh at him. You terrify him, Harry.”

Harry’s face crumples, the tears returning. “I don’t mean to.”

He’s pulled back into the hug, Gillian stroking his hair. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

Harry hugs her back, tries to apologize for every bad thought he’s had about her. He knows that they’re friends, but it isn’t until now that he understands how important Gillian’s become to him. “I’m sorry you had a fight.”

“I’m sorry Nick’s been a dickhead.”

Harry snorts, but it sounds miserable. His brain hasn’t really caught up to what’s happened yet. “You should talk to him.”

He feels her nod. “I’ll talk to him if you talk to him. You can’t have this shagging-without-rules thing anymore.” She squeezes him. “I won’t let you.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Good.”

 

There’s a polite knock on the door and they fly apart, staring at each other in horror. Harry’s pretty sure he looks a wreck, hair messed up and eyes red rimmed from crying.

“Just a minute,” Gillian calls. She smooths down her shirt and pulls herself up. Harry crawls across the floor to hide behind the desk. He really doesn’t have the energy to be introduced to someone now.

Gillian peeks behind her, gives him a quick nod before opening the door.

“Oh. Hello Dave,” Gillian says, emphasizing on the name. Harry tries to make him as small as possible, pulling his knees up to his chin. He doesn’t want to come face to face with Dave right now. Or ever, really.

“I just thought I’d come up and say that I’m going home now.”

“Okay, well. Have a nice weekend.”

Dave gives a polite chuckle. “It’s Wednesday.”

“Right.” Harry can hear the underlying tension and has a vivid vision of Gellz bursting into hysterical laughter right there in the doorway.

“Is… is Harry still here? I saw him come in earlier, and I was just wondering…”

“No. No, he’s left already,” Gillian squeaks. “I think he had a date.”

Once again, Harry is knocked over by the stupidity in ever doubting Gillian’s friendship. She’s probably had his back a hundred times without him knowing. Even though he knows he should pick himself up and talk to Dave once and for all, the feeling still makes him smile. Besides, he can’t pop up from behind the desk now, that’d ruin Gellz’ cover up.

“Oh, okay. Well, I guess it was a long shot anyway,” Dave says, sounding disappointed.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Have a good night,” Dave says, and then he’s gone.

Gillian closes the door and turns around. Harry’s peeking up at her. “Shit.”

She walks over to the desk, pulls him up. “Saved your ass.”

He kisses her cheek. “Thank you.”

 

***

 

Harry leaves the cookie tin behind when he goes. Something tells him that getting more amped up on sugar right now is not the wise thing to do.

He has a Nick to deal with, and there is a big chance he might run away if Harry comes on too strong. It’ll be fine, though. Harry’s lived with a cat for sixteen years; he’s used to skittish animals.

 

***

 

He walks into Nick’s room with all the casual confidence he can muster. There’s a nervous tingling taking over his feet, making him walk kind of wobbly, but his mind is clear. Onto the point and spare no feelings. The truth will out.

The thing about clichés is that they’re no good when just said inside your own head. Harry steals himself. “I talked to Gillian.”

Nick had been sitting on his bed, calmly watching Harry approaching but at his words, Nick freezes and his cheeks lose their colour.

Harry stops a couple steps in front of Nick, crosses his arms. “You never dated Henry.”

“Did too.” Nick tries. His hands are moving restlessly along the ripped knees of his jeans.

Harry scoffs, “Come on.”

“Well, I mean, not officially or anything, but. But we did, for a while,” Nick says, voice rushed.

Harry looks down at his feet. “Are you really going to lie to my face?” He asks softly.

In the corner of his eye, he can see Nick reaching for his hand but pulling back at the last second.

“No,” Nick mumbles. “I’m sorry.”

Harry forces himself to look up; he needs to see Nick’s face right now. “For lying to me this whole time when I didn’t know anything, or for lying to me just now when I did?”  

He’s always known that Nick has a rather impressive defence system, carefully put in place to hide everyone from seeing too much. Normally, it’s unnoticeable, it’s only after seeing Nick with Gillian when she’s had a bad day, or playing with Thurston in the back yard that Harry’s realised just how deep those walls go.

The fact that Nick’s face is completely open now is probably the best sign of guilt and regret that Harry could ask for.

It’s not enough though, not without the words.

“Both. For both. It was just… we live together and Gillian didn’t like it, so it’s. I don’t know.” Nick is looking rather lovely, with his big eyes and pleading look, but Harry will not give in.

“What, so you thought lying was better than, you know, actually explaining this to me? You could’ve told me that you were freaking out. You could have told Gellz that you liked me.” Harry falters. “You do like me, right?”

“Yes! Yes, of course I do. Shit. I fucked this all up. Just like I knew I would,” Nick says with a bitter smile. His voice sounds defeated.

Harry’s conflicted because he still wants to call Nick out on everything that he’s done, but he doesn’t want Nick to give up on them. He has no idea if he can push just a little bit further without that happening, but he needs answers.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry asks.

Nick shakes his head.

“Why?” Harry asks, voice firmer. “Nick, just-”

“Because you wouldn’t be here if I had,” Nick snaps. “Okay? That’s why. If I had gone all clingy and obsessive and weird with you, then you would have moved out. You would have ran away and then we wouldn’t be able to pay the rent, and everyone would hate me cause they all like you and I would be the reason you weren’t around anymore.” He drags a hand through his hair, gets up from his chair and starts pacing round the room. “Pixie would do that thing where she drags me out to clubs and order drinks with a side of hot bartenders who I don’t care about but still fuck, because at least they want me. Oh, and Aimee would get drunk and make that speech about monogamy, and it would all culminate in me realising, _again_ , that I can’t like someone, not really, without completely screwing it up. I’m sick of it, okay, I’m so, so sick of being the idiot who thought that someone actually wanted him back. I just can’t do that again.”

Harry blinks. Nick rubs a tired hand over his mouth. “It just… it wouldn’t have worked.”

“Why would I run away?”

There’s a vein in Nick’s forehead which looks like it’s about to burst. “I just told you!”

Harry shakes his head. “No, you just went on about what people would do after I’d left. Why would you think I’d leave, Nick?”

“Because everyone does,” Nick says, shrugging.

Harry may not be proud of it, but ever since he moved in, he’s been carefully cataloguing Nick’s way of speaking. He now knows when he’s happy but trying for casual, when he’s annoyed but laughs it off and when he’s trying to mask something for one reason or another. It’s remarkable how someone who makes a living out of his voice can have so many layers to it. Harry’s always thought that it’s about being straightforward and open when you do the radio, but Nick does it with one hand in the open and the other one hidden behind his back, keeping the audience constantly guessing what’s to come next.

There is no joke in Nick’s voice now, there’s not even insecurity. He says it with a calm acceptance, like it’s another scientific fact he’s found in _National Geographic_. Harry feels a tug in his chest when he realises that to Nick, the fact that everyone leaves is something he’s grown so accustomed to, it’s not even a question of _if_ anymore. It’s just a question of when.

Harry takes a deep breath and decides he might as well go for it. At this point, it’s all or nothing anyway.

“How long have you known Gillian?”

“What?” Nick looks confused.

 _Good,_ Harry thinks. _Join the club_.

“How long?”

“I don’t know, five, six years?”

“Pixie?”

“Probably the same,” Nick shrugs.

“Henry?”

“Four and a half.”

“Collette?”

“Six.”

“Aimee?”

“Seven.”

“Has anyone of them left?”

“No,” Nick says, meeting Harry’s eyes. He still seems confused, but has apparently decided to go along with whatever point Harry’s trying to make.

Harry steals himself. “How long have you known me?”

Nick looks down. “Almost a year.”

“Have I left?” His voice is shaking a little, but it’s not too bad. If this all goes awry, they can pretend they didn’t notice the slight tremor.

“It’s different.”

Harry takes a step closer. “It’s not.”

“Yes, it is. I don’t sleep with my other friends.”

“Have you ever?”

Nick looks a little lost now. “No, I told you, the whole Henry thing was just-“

“I mean the other ones. Were they… were they your friends?” Harry asks, biting his lip. His brilliant trail of logic won’t be so brilliant if Nick responds with a simple _yes, of course, best of friends we were, until they all fucked off_. Harry searches Nick’s face for any kind of clues, but mostly, he just looks conflicted.

“I don’t know,” Nick says. “I guess. But not. We weren’t friends before, I guess. And not after. Haven’t seen them much after,” he tacks on, grinning a little too wide.

“I’m your friend,” Harry says quietly, trying to convey all the meaning into those three words all at once. Those three, Harry suspects, are more important to Nick than the more famous ones. Nick has built his life around friendship and around family because in the end, they’re the same thing. Harry desperately wants to be included in that, wants his words to ring true to Nick.

“Yeah,” Nick says. He’s silent for a moment. “You are.”

Harry’s not quite sure he properly made his point. Right now, he’s fairly certain that there’s a switch in Nick’s brain and that it’s either on _friend_ or _currently fucking_ and he’s equally sure it’s been put there as a safety net.  

They’re quiet for a while.

“I am sorry,” Nick says softly, hugging himself tightly. “I’ve been really stupid.”

“I’d say so,” Harry replies.

Nick gives a half-laugh, half-sob and curls in on himself a little. “Yeah.”

The room seems to have lost all air, everything in Harry’s body screaming at him to get out, just for a little while, just to breathe. “I need to take a walk or something.”

Nick gives a shaky nod at that.

Harry empties his pockets on the hallway table before leaving. He can’t bear the thought of phoning anyone, his wallet and keys unnecessary. He’s fairly sure he’ll be back before Nick leaves and if not, Gillian will be home soon. Worst case scenario, he’ll walk the streets of London until he has to go in for work. Maybe then he’ll have time enough to figure this out.

 

***

 

It’s the keys that does it. When Nick emerges from his room to inhale a ton of the unhealthiest food he can find, he stops short on the way to the kitchen. Harry’s left his keys.

It’s not that Nick’s unreasonable enough to think that Harry’s never coming back, it’s the feeling of dread in his stomach when he considers this to be an actual future possibility.

They left it so uncertain, and Harry still looked so hurt when he walked out. Maybe he really will move out. He’ll certainly stop doing whatever it is him and Nick’s had going on, why would he ever even consider continuing being close with someone who’s lied to them time and time again?

He’ll leave.

Gillian’s voice seem to mock him as he stands staring at the door. _He’s gonna find out and he’s gonna hate you_.

 

***

 

Harry comes back about an hour later, feeling much lighter. He walked in circles around the nearby park until the monotone movements made his brain ready to untangle the mess in his mind.

He’s still angry at Nick for lying; still hurt by the way he assumed Harry would’ve left if he hadn’t.

He still wants to be with him.

He opens the door and is met with Nick, sitting just inside the door with his knees hugged against his chest.

“Why are you on the floor?” Harry asks, toeing out of his shoes.

Nick’s head snaps up, confusion written across his face. “Hi,” he says.

Harry nods a greeting, waits for a beat and repeats his question. “Why are you sitting here?”

“You left your keys, so I thought I should wait for you to come back. ” A blush is working its way up Nick’s neck, colouring his cheeks red. He looks ashamed and determined. “I didn’t want the door to be locked.”

Harry sits down next to him, tentatively rests his arm against Nick’s. “Thank you.”

Nick shrugs, worries his bottom lip with his teeth.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

The clock in the lounge ticks away the seconds.

Harry turns his head to catch Nick’s profile in the disappearing light. “Do you want tea?”

“Sure,” Nick answers quietly.

It’s ten minutes before any of them move.

 

 

They’re sitting across from each other by the kitchen table. Nick is clutching his cup in his hands, chasing the warmth from the hot water. Harry’s absentmindedly picking on his jeans, ripping the fabric over the knee even worse than before.

“You saw me with other people when you thought I was dating Henry,” Nick says suddenly.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t think- I mean,” he twists a little in his seat. “You thought…”

“I thought you guys had an open relationship.” Harry shrugs. He honestly hadn’t cared about that back then, but this brings him to finally ask the question he’s been scared to get an answer to. “So have you been, like, other than with me? While we’ve been together?”

Nick stares at him, a guilty expression on his face. Harry’s stomach twists, but he still forces a smile.

“Oh.” He forces himself to keep it together. “Well, I guess we never talked about that, so. It’s fine.”

“No. No, no, no. I just… you thought that?”

Harry shrugs. Nick covers his face with both hands, breathes out shakily. “Fuck.”

He looks back at Harry. “I didn’t. That thing with Henry, and the whole not telling anyone, I did that, but I didn’t fuck anyone else.” He grabs Harry’s wrists. “I wouldn’t do that. I didn’t do that.”

Harry looks at him, a small bout of happiness growing inside him. “Okay,” he says softly.

He flips his hand around so that he can grip one of Nick’s hands with his own. “Figured I’d ask, you know. But I’m glad that you hadn’t, cause I haven’t and now we won’t, right?”

Nick looks down at their hands, then back up at Harry. “Wait, what?”

Harry keeps his eyes on the table, tangles their fingers together. He’s made a decision, and he’s going to stick with it. There was nothing malicious about Nick’s lie, not really, it was a non-truth born out of fear. He’s still going to need to talk this out properly, and it’ll be a while before he can fully trust Nick again but in the end, Nick is what he wants. Them, together.

When Harry looks back up, the expression on Nick’s face is eerily similar to the one Luke wore when he found out that him and Leia were related. It doesn’t bode well.

“Have you gone completely bloody mad? I _lied_ to you. I- I tricked you into doing this whole thing with me. You’re supposed to, I don’t know, throw things and break my face with your nails or something.”

“Is that usually how your fights go?” Harry asks calmly.

“With Aimee it is. Pixie just punches me and Alexa steals my clothes.”

“And Gillian?”

Nick’s hand grips a little tighter around Harry’s. “Don’t fight with Gellz that often. Never done it before, actually,” he says quietly. “Didn’t like it.”

Harry locks his hand around Nick’s neck and pulls him in so they’re sitting with their foreheads pressed together, leaning over the small table. “You’ll be fine. I think you should talk to her.”

Nick’s smile is a little too self-deprecating for Harry’s taste, but at least it’s there. “Not very good at talking, young Harold.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Really? And what did she say?” Nick asks quietly, before catching the small smirk on Harry’s face. He frowns a bit and squeezes Harry’s wrist again. “Don’t make a joke about that right now. Gillian, what did Gillian say?”

“She said you’re excellent at talking.”

Nick looks down on their hands, thumb moving restlessly over Harry’s palm. He breathes in deeply, straightens up. “Well, alright then.”

 

The sound of the front door opening and closing is ridiculously well timed. Harry gives Nick a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving Nick alone at the table. He passes Gillian on the way to his room, gives her a tight hug before gesturing to the kitchen. She nods shakily and seems to steel herself before walking in.

Harry leaves his bedroom door ajar, because he wants to eavesdrop a little even though he knows he shouldn’t. At least this way, he tells himself, he can listen out for any distressing sounds indicating that Nick is going down in the wrestling match that’s bound to occur at some point. Nick may be scrappy, but Gillian fights dirty.

 

***

 

It takes two hours, a little bit of shouting from Gillian and six cups of tea before they come into the lounge. Harry’s trying to casually watch telly and not care at all what goes on body language wise, but judging by the way both of them smile at him, he’s pretty sure he’s not succeeding. The pat on the head he receives from Gellz when she plops down beside him doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in his spying skills. Nick sits down on Harry’s other side and rests an arm against his, so all in all, it’s not a total defeat.

“You okay then?” he asks tentatively.

Gillian shrugs. “Had to knock him around a little, but nothing major.”

“Hey. Don’t be nasty,” Nick interjects, pulling Harry closer to him. Harry snuggles in without a second thought, craving the closeness. He does his best in trying to slow his heart down at the simple gesture. It’s just their lounge, and there’s only Gillian around, but it’s still the first time they’ve acted like a couple in front of someone who knows they’re together.

“Are you okay with this?” Nick whispers in his ear.

Harry pulls back enough to see Nick’s furrowed brow, his tentativeness in crossing the line. The whole thing is slightly confusing but very thrilling.

“Ugh. Are you going to do that all the time now?” Gillian groans, burrowing deeper into the couch.

“Mhm,” Harry responds without breaking eye contact with Nick, pulling on his arm until Nick lets it hang low from Harry’s shoulder enough to let Harry play with his fingers. “Get used to it, we’re going to do some serious PDA. And PDS.”

“I don’t want to know,” Gillian mutters.

“Public displays of snogging,” Harry says proudly. Nick’s eyes go soft; he reaches up to smooth back a curl that’s come loose from the bandana.

“God help me.”

“I like it,” Nick says.

“Of course you do, you slag,” Gillian snorts.

“Not a slag anymore though, am I? Proper committed and everything,” Nick says.

Harry tries to hide his smile in Nick’s shirt, but he can’t cover up the tips of his ears fast enough. Gillian coos and tugs on them a little, making Harry kick out.

Turns out the day does end in a wrestling fight after all. Harry and Gillian give each other all they’ve got, but when Nick ducks out to sit awkwardly on the sofa, a small smile on his face, they team up to simultaneously attack him. He ends up with Harry straddling his chest and Gellz mercilessly tickling his feet. Harry looks down on Nick’s laughing face and thinks, _okay_ , and  _yes_ , and  _we’ll be alright_.

 

***

 

Making more money than before doesn’t make Nick feel any different. Yes, he can now afford to go to the posh supermarket without spending half his wage on cheese alone, and sure, he did go on an impressive _Top Man_ spree as soon as he got his first pay check, but other than that, nothing has really changed.

He would like to get his own flat though.

It’s something that’s been in the back of his mind for a while, but he hasn’t had the actual means to do it before. His new, shiny promotion means that he’ll probably have an easier time getting a mortgage and he would like to live a little closer to work now that he’s got the early shift. Matt is always in panic mode when he runs in five minutes before air time and since Nick does have quite the soft spot for his producer, he’d like to see him live past the age of thirty.

Harry is currently fiddling with Nick’s computer, probably changing the songs on the playlist Nick’s been working on for the past two hours. He does keep a hand in Nick’s hair while doing it though, fingers slowly combing through the quiff, so Nick can’t really find it in himself to be annoyed about it.

They’ve been doing so much better since they aired everything out during The Weekend Of Talking, almost a month ago. They had stocked up on food and water before locking themselves in Nick’s room, not venturing outside except for toilet breaks. Nick had piled all his emotional garbage on top of Harry’s, making some kind of lasagne of feelings before they started sorting through it all. Nick had been surprised to see how many of his own fears were mirrored in Harry’s, how alike and how different they were. They had been determined to keep their hands to themselves, and managed to do so until two AM on Sunday night, which technically meant that it was Monday anyway and therefore completely okay to do so. They had already taken the day off, slept until late afternoon and took a joint shower (“ _Less water, innit?_ ”) before joining their friends for dinner.

Nick noses behind Harry’s ear, pressing a kiss to the skin before going back to resting his head against his shoulder. “Hey, how do you get to work on time?”

“Take the bus. Why?”

“There’s a bus at two in the morning?”

Harry hums distractedly, keeps on clicking away.

“Is it just you then, all on your own? Or is there some mysterious bloke in the back with charisma and charm enough to keep you awake?”

“His name’s Joe.”

Nick sits up. Harry’s hand falls down to his side. “What?” Nick asks, his voice flat. “Joe who?”

Harry looks up. “Joe, the guy from the bus.” He smiles a little too innocently for Nick to believe it. “You know, the one who’s always there, like, looking after me every morning.”

Nick can suddenly relate to how Thurston feels when he’s guarding his favourite Nike Air from Busta. Not that Harry is similar to a chewed out trainer, but Nick suddenly feels very keen to wake up early just to go on Harry’s mysterious night bus and bark at this Joe. Nick’s too busy pondering whether or not his bark would sound intimidating or just stupid to notice that Harry’s put the computer down on the table. His mind only starts paying attention when a warm body plops down onto his lap.

“You don’t mind me hanging out with Joe, do you?”

“No,” Nick says a little too quickly, his hands automatically grabbing hold of Harry’s hips.

Harry rubs a thumb over his collarbone.  “You’re okay with us spending time together on the bus, right? I mean, it’s the middle of the night and all, I get lonely.”

Nick would love to be the kind of man who could resist reacting to Harry’s obvious baiting. Sadly, he’s not.

He puts a hand in Harry’s hair and yanks him closer. “Shut up,” he says before pressing their lips together. Harry grins into the kiss.

 

***

 

The next time Harry goes on the bus, he’s sporting three impressive lovebites on his neck that Joe, the elderly bus driver, politely refrains from commenting on.

Nick doesn’t even pretend to be sorry.

 

***

 

A couple of days later, Nick brings Pixie with him to go look for a new flat. Even though she doesn’t like to admit it, she is born and raised around money, and is the best person to help Nick pick out a place without getting played by a sneaky real estate agent.

“So, why are you moving north again?”

Nick shrugs, keeps his eyes on the road. It’s not often he drives in London, prefers to take a cab or get a ride, so every time he does, it’s always a shock being in the middle of the chaotic streets. “I’ve always wanted to live in Primrose. It’s close to work, too.”

“And posh as fuck,” Pixie grins.

“Shut up.”

The flat is lovely, with a small garden and lots of windows. Nick falls in love the minute he steps through the door.

“I want it,” he whispers to Pixie.

“Get in line Grimmy, _I_ want it. This place is bloody amazing,” Pixie replies, eyeing the en suite bathroom.

He’s not ashamed for breaking into some kind of mad rush to find the estate agent after that. He loves Pix, but she can be exceptionally sneaky when she wants to, and the flat is something he desperately needs to snatch before she does.

 

***

 

Somehow, the conversation started with ‘ _So I bought a flat_ ’, continued with ‘ _I kinda want you to live there with me_ ’ only to end on ‘ _Why are you still angry with me?_ ’ It’s entirely possible Nick’s messed this up a bit. Judging by the look on Harry’s face, he thinks so too.

“I’m not angry with you, Nick,” Harry says patiently.

“Well, I am. I’m pissed at myself and I’m kinda pissed at you too.”

“What?”

“Yeah. What kind of guy doesn’t get mad when he finds out that his boyfriend’s been lying to get to shag him.” It seems that words are just spewing out of Nick’s mouth right now, and it’s starting to annoy Harry a little.

“Is that why you did it? To fuck me?”

Nick drags a hand through his hair. “That’s not the point.”

“Of course that’s the point, you twat. You had a reason to not go all in.”

“Not a good enough one.”

“Well, I thought so.”

Nick punches the air a bit, frustration clear on his face. Harry taps his foot against the floor and waits him out.

“I’m not happy about this,” Nick informs him.

“What, me forgiving you? That happened ages ago, try to keep up Grimshaw,” Harry replies, smirking a little. He knows it’ll drive Nick crazy if he doesn’t give in to the provocation, and he gets his reward when Nick storms up to him and grabs his jaw.

“This is not funny.”

“Well…”

“Shut up, god,” Nick mutters, pressing their lips together. Clearly, he’s in for a fight, but Harry immediately gives up control to throw him off. He doesn’t want to argue, not when Nick has just asked him to move in.

“Never do anything I bloody want,” Nick grumbles.

“I am moving in with you though,” Harry replies, pressing up against Nick so that he can nuzzle just under Nick’s ear, at the spot he knows always makes him squirm.

“Oi!” Nick tugs Harry’s head up by the hair and presses their noses together. “No.”

Harry sneaks a kiss. “Yes.” He pokes Nick’s side until he’s smiling.

“Twat,” Nick mumbles, dragging a finger down Harry’s cheek. He kisses him softly, lets them fall into it. The hand that was holding Harry in place is now carding carefully through the curls, ending up in the nape of Harry’s neck.

“We’ve already talked about this, Nick. I don’t know why you feel like bringing it back up. Do you not remember the forty-eight hours we spent in this room, going over this whole thing?”

“I just wanted to make sure that you’re not mad. I don’t want you to go.” Nick’s eyes flit over Harry’s face. Harry stays quiet, holding his breath. The fact that Nick asked him to join him in his new flat is a big deal and Harry doesn’t want anything to scare him off the idea. It wouldn’t be the first time Nick’s had a brilliant idea, only to back out later. Harry won’t let him get out of this one, but he’d rather Nick wouldn’t try.

“If you decide to…” Nick takes a deep breath. Harry doesn’t dare to move. “If you move in, then you can’t leave. Just. You have to tell me if you don’t like me anymore, or if you’ve found someone better. I won’t get mad, but I want to know.”

He trails off and moves the slightest bit forward so that their foreheads are resting against each other.

Harry breathes out in a quiet whoosh. He knows that he could go on a tangent about how he would never leave, that he won’t find someone else and that he feels an overwhelming sense of belonging with Nick.

That’s not what Nick needs, though. He doesn’t do well with grand promises, he never believes them. In the end, there’s only one thing he can say.

“Okay.”

The smallest smile graces Nick’s face, the one where it’s mostly in the eyes. He kisses Harry’s temple. “Okay.”

 

They’re still hugging when Gillian gets home much, much later. Although, it’s possible that Harry got a little tired of standing up, so they’ve ended up on the floor with their legs intertwined. They’re not _actually_ doing anything though, so there’s really no reason for Gellz to go on about how much she’ll appreciate her own place away from horny schoolboys.

 

***

 

It takes far longer than any of them wanted, but at last, they’ve got everything situated in the new flat. Harry insists on going shopping with his mum, claiming he needs her expert opinion on curtains and bookcases.

Nick protests, afraid that he’d come home to a flat filled with purple fabric and string shelves covering the walls. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Anne’s taste, she’s a lovely woman with far too much willpower to cave under Harry’s doe eyes, but he wouldn’t put it past his boyfriend to simply go out for a second round of shopping after his mum had left, just to be able to sneak in some leopard print rugs.

The argument ends with Harry carefully opening Nick up with his tongue before putting him on his back and taking his time, covering Nick’s chest with kisses as he gets him off with long, deep thrusts until Nick is shaking from it. Just as Nick is about to come, Harry leans down and whispers _‘Just think of the pillowcases’_ in his ear. Nick starts laughing so hard he nearly throws up.

 

***

 

They take both their mums out for a spree on the town a couple of days later. Nick makes sure to buy every pillowcase Harry as much as looks at, making Harry blush and giggle every single time.

 

***

 

They’re throwing a big moving in party, and Nick’s slightly nervous. He knows most of Harry’s friends, their colleagues already mixed from working in the same office and Nick’s mates have all met (and fallen in love with) Harry.

It’s just that… Henry’s coming. He’s bringing his boyfriend along, and Nick’s happy that he was able to make it, what with the long hours Henry’s been working to prepare for the spring show, but he’s not sure how Harry’s going to react. It’ll be a disaster if it turns out that Harry is projecting some of the blame on Henry, or if someone would make a crude joke and bring it all back.

 

As it turns out, Nick needn’t worry. Upon his arrival, Henry takes Harry out to the garden under the disguise of a smoke break and – from what Harry later tells him – apologizes for not speaking up. They seem to be getting along rather well, from what Nick can see where he’s standing in the lounge, pretending to talk to Aimee.

“They’ll be fine,” Aimee says, thrusting a wine glass into Nick’s hand. “Harry’s a big boy.”

“Oh, I know,” Gillian chimes in with a wicked smile on her face.

“Shut up, you wench,” Nick laughs, taking a sip from his wine. It’s some imported stuff Zayn’s brought along, and it calms Nick right down.

“What? It’s not my fault he walks around naked all the time,” Gillian says.

“No more. There will be no more discussion of this,” Nick groans. “You keep your eyes to yourself.”

She simply shrugs and saunters off to talk to Dev.

“You’ve done good, Grimmy. Who would’ve thought you’d get the job and the boy all in one year, ey?” Aimee says, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Not me,” he answers, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You ready to shake this thing up a little?”

“Oh, god yes,” she says, eyeing Producer Ian from across the room.

 

They make a playlist with grind-worthy beats and turn down the lights. In the middle of the second song, Harry comes in from the garden and beams at Nick’s attempt to shimmy over to him.

“Me and Henry are going to be pals from now on,” he shouts into Nick’s ear. “We shook on it and everything.”

Nick feels like he’s going to explode into tiny, heart-shaped pieces at the thought of Harry making an effort to get close to Henry. He hugs him enthusiastically enough to lift him into the air. “Thank you, love.”

Harry wraps his legs around Nick’s waist and locks their eyes together. “My pleasure, Mr Grimshaw.”

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” Nick asks, letting his arms slide down to make sure Harry doesn’t do any sudden moves to overbalance both of them.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, leaning down for a kiss. “This is how it’s gonna be.”

 

**_the end._**


End file.
